


We’re in Eden

by ILoveFANFic



Series: In Eden and beyond [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And I’m not talking about bikes or horses lol, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Barebacking, Biting, Blushing Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Car Sex, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean owns a recording studio, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, Feelings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Hotel owner Castiel, Implied/Referenced Bottom Dean Winchester, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Musician Dean Winchester, No Angst, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), POV Alternating, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Riding, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, They both had shitty families but turned things around, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILoveFANFic/pseuds/ILoveFANFic
Summary: Castiel is the owner of a small and cozy hotel and he likes being in charge of breakfast, taking care of guests by helping them land on planet Earth with caffeine and hash browns, and having a chance to chat a bit with them in the meantime. This way, he meets so many interesting people, but they all invariably leave. Sometimes he only realizes they left when he doesn’t see them at breakfast, and he always feels a pang in his chest when his favorite guests do not show up.Dean has to leave his apartment for a few days because his landlord has finally decided to pay for the renovations the building is in desperate need of. He needs to stay in the area to be close to his workplace, but he doesn’t want to spend too much on a fancy hotel – money isn’t exactly tight, but it’s not to be wasted either. Plus, fancy isn’t exactly his style. Cozy, homey, simple, welcoming is so much more his scene. And he just knows the place. That small, well-kept hotel he always passes by when driving to and from work, with a patio and a swing, and the nicely furnished living room he can always see from the open windows.What if Dean ended up being the one guest who keeps showing up for breakfast even after checking out?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: In Eden and beyond [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018189
Comments: 163
Kudos: 319
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a quick meet-cute but turned into a little monster with backstory and all. The blame falls on both my unruly muse who always seems to do whatever she wants, and the two incredible men we stan and that are undoubtedly the inspiration behind these characters, two people who always try to help others as a way to give back a little.
> 
> So I guess this is both an appreciation fic for both Cas and Dean the incredible characters and Misha and Jensen the incredible men.
> 
> This fic is around 20k and I will post once a week.
> 
> Please enjoy the heavy dose of fluff that’s about to follow and come talk to me about it if you feel like it, I’ll love it if you do ❤

“Good morning, Mildred. How are you today?”

“Good morning, Gorgeous. I’m like I’ve been since I saw you the first time two days ago. Sorry I’m not thirty years younger.”

Castiel couldn’t help replying with a chuckle and a head shake if they paid him. Guests like Mildred are the very reason why he loves this part of his job so much.

In theory, he’s a hotel owner. In practice, he doesn’t much like the sound of that, and he never introduces himself as one. It makes people think he is something he is not. Rich, for one. Living a glamorous life, for another. While in reality, he owns a small hotel with twelve bedrooms that he did everything in his power to turn into a simple, clean and cozy place where people would feel welcome and at home. As the owner, he should have been responsible for the books and the marketing and what not, but he frankly hates those things and it comes in handy his older brother Gabriel has a degree in business and accounting. He’s obviously fully involved in any decision-making process related to those aspects, to make sure Gabe won’t do something lucrative which is, however, not in line with Castiel’s vision for his hotel – like stop buying the lavender honey at the farmer’s market because “we can pay much less for non-flavored honey which is equally good at the supermarket, Cassie”, or stop offering a discounted rate for guests over 65 or families with children because “those are the guests more likely to choose a place like this, you have to milk those cows, Cassie, not give them grass for free.”

Castiel knows Gabe is right, from a strictly monetary point of view. But that isn’t why he decided to restore this building and turn it into a hotel. Castiel doesn’t need money. Well, he doesn’t need more than what is enough for him to pay all the people working for him and to live a comfortable life himself.

That's mostly because he and Gabe come from a pretty well-off family. A wealthy, strict family more focused on keeping up appearances than forming strong and meaningful familial bonds. Reason why, as soon as he figured out he was as gay as they come, Castiel also decided he wouldn’t tell his parents until his 21st birthday had come and gone and the money in his trust fund had been safely transferred to his bank account. That meant Castiel became pretty skillful and creative in finding alibis whenever he wanted to fool around with a boy growing up, that was for sure, but all those efforts paid off when he did come out to Naomi and Chuck and, as expected, was promptly disowned. Which was followed by Gabe being disowned too when he told them he had accepted Castiel’s offer to go work at his hotel.

That’s where a substantial part of his trust fund went: buying the building, restoring it, converting it into a receptive structure and having it up and running within a year.

So money was _not_ the reason why Castiel decided to open the hotel, no. It was his endless love of humanity and his natural predisposition to give. In a word, that’s what Castiel is: a giver. He likes helping others, making them happy, making them feel accepted and welcome, just for who they are. It doesn’t take a shrink to see he has developed that attitude as a coping mechanism. He never felt welcome and accepted just for who he was growing up, so he made sure there would be somewhere in the world where that would always happen, where everyone would be welcome and accepted, no questions asked, no bargaining of any kind. No ‘if you this we’ll give you this’ – his parents favorite educative strategy. Just ‘I’ll give you this because you need it’ or ‘I’ll give you this because I know it will make you happy’.

So he figured, with his degree in modern languages, which his parents had only allowed because “one of us able to speak some of our foreign partners’ language could be useful after all”, Gabe’s degree, and his best friend Meg’s experience at the front desk of a three star hotel during their college years, which made her perfectly suited to be in charge of both reception and booking, the idea of opening a small but nice hotel wasn’t that far-fetched.

That’s how Hotel Eden was born: a beautiful, quiet place, good enough for both peace and sin, just like its biblical namesake. Castiel was interested in creating a welcoming and peaceful environment, but he wasn’t so naive that he didn’t know what happened behind the closed doors of a hotel room more often than not. And considering how religious his family were, himself and his siblings having been named after angels and the whole ‘you are disowned because homosexuality is a capital sin’ bullshit, he saw this name choice as a golden opportunity to say a not so subtle ‘fuck you’ to his parents and their religious fervor.

And he decided to open it in this neighborhood because it was an area of town they were trying to reclaim, where violence and crime had been spiking and involving teens more and more consistently. Realizing that investing in the area was the best solution to both deal with the increasing crime rate and the involvement of young people in illegal practices, the town hall started infusing money and resources in a redevelopment plan and inviting the opening of new businesses. It seemed like fate was calling Castiel’s name. He wanted to open his hotel to create a safe space for himself, his family and for others, so contributing to help a whole neighborhood in the process was the proverbial cherry on the cake.

These are all the reasons why Castiel opts for premium quality products and keeps prices just high enough for the hotel to pay for itself and make a small revenue. He likes to think that, if he doesn’t raise the prices, especially for families and elderly people, they can afford to stay longer, making more memories and spending their money around the neighborhood at cafes and shops and entertainment venues.

He also works with a charity that helps the homeless by offering a few days’ hospitality to homeless kids when they can’t be placed elsewhere. When he can, he also offers those kids the chance to do some little jobs around the hotel to either earn some money or the right to stay for a couple of nights longer.

Besides making this kind of executive decisions and taking care of the day-to-day errands, such as taking and retrieving the linens from their trusted laundry, Castiel’s main occupation is breakfast. He _loves_ breakfast time at the hotel. He feels incredibly accomplished when he takes care of guests by helping them land on planet Earth with caffeine, pancakes and hash browns. That also gives him a chance to chat a bit with them and meet so many interesting people while he observes the always interesting process of them passing from decaffeinated zombies to fully functional human beings. The downside of this particular aspect of his job is that they all invariably leave and sometimes he only realizes that they left only when he doesn’t see them at breakfast. He always feels a pang in his chest when his favorite guests do not show up. But he’s learned to make do and make the most of these meetings while they last. Each person has the potential of giving us something, teaching us something, making us feel something, and that stays with us long after they are gone, Castiel has learned.

The rumble of a car brings him back to the present. Castiel knows absolutely nothing about cars, but he’s pretty sure that’s the sound of the very sexy, classic, black car that passes in front of his hotel every day in the morning and late afternoon. The very sexy, classic, black car that is driven by a man Castiel’s had a chance to spot behind the wheel a time or two (hundred), and that, even from a distance, looks just as sexy as the car he drives.

‘Stop daydreaming Cassie’, his brother’s voice in his head orders, ‘you have work to do.’

Right.

“So, Mildred, pancakes or hash browns today?”

“How about both? Pancakes and hash browns are like men, after all. Why choose, right?”

Castiel huffs a laugh and shakes his head again as he starts platting Mildred’s breakfast. Yes, he definitely loves his job.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new guest checks in at Hotel Eden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the love on Chapter 1 ❤️ I'm *so* happy you liked it and I've loved chatting with you about it. You guys rock and I appreciate you so, so, so much. 
> 
> Without further ado, let's find out who this new guest might be... lol

‘Oh, wipe that smug smile off of your face, Dean,’ his brother Sam’s voice orders him in his head. ‘Sorry, Sammy, can’t do. I was _fucking right_ ,’ Dean’s own mental voice replies while he keeps looking at the cozy, clean, tidy and absolutely homey room he was just assigned.

This hotel is the _perfect_ place for him to spend the next two weeks at and he _fucking knew it,_ even though his little brother kept insisting he could simply stay at his place and avoid “throwing your money away when you don’t need to.”

That mean, shady man of Dean’s landlord, Marv, has _finally_ decided to pay for the renovations the building where Dean’s apartment is located is in desperate need of. As fantastic as that is, it also meant that Dean had to find another place to stay at for a fortnight. Not being a fan of imposing on his brother, friends, or, worse, of couch surfing for that long, a hotel or a B&B seemed liked the best choice. However, he needed to stay in the area to be close to his workplace and didn’t want to spend too much on a fancy hotel. Money isn’t exactly tight, but it’s not to be wasted either. Plus, fancy isn’t exactly his style. Cozy, homey, simple, welcoming is so much more his scene. So when the time came for him to make his reservation, he just knew the perfect place. The small, well-kept hotel he always passes by when driving to and from work, with a patio and a swing, and the nicely furnished living room he can always see from the open windows.

Even though the she-devil at the reception – “Meg,” as she made sure to inform Dean when she told him that he could “call her for _whatever_ he needed, day _or_ night” – had given him pause and made him question his choice momentarily with how blatantly she was checking him out, the room he’s in now only confirms he was right all along.

Dean notices the care is not only in the furnishing of the place, which is filled with nice little touches, but also in the service. On a dresser in front of the bed, he finds complementary cookies and flavored teas, not only the average ones but the exotic kinds too, such as mango and lychee green tea, and flavored honey. The whole thing makes the place appear even more domestic.

What attracts his attention right away, however, is a braided chest at the foot of the bed with a handwritten note on top of it stating

_Dear Guest,_

_Did you buy too many souvenirs and can no longer close your luggage?_

_If you want to leave any clothes, toiletries or accessories (such as extra shirts, shampoo, or umbrellas) behind, please put them in this chest: we’ll make sure to take them to goodwill so they can be handed over to those in need._

_Thank you for your cooperation and kindness!_

_The Hotel Eden team_

Well, that’s damn smart, is what it is. Your hotel room is usually the place where you realize you did go overboard on your shopping sprees during your holiday. And that usually happens at the most inconvenient time too, when you try to close your luggage before checking out and find that you can’t. Knowing that what you leave behind will not be thrown away but might actually help somebody makes it easier to part with your belongings and might even inspire guests to be a little bit more generous, or less selfish, than they would normally be. Dean doesn’t exclude that somebody might actually buy stuff to put in the chest on purpose, knowing that the hotel management will take care of the rest.

Dean appreciates a business where people do not only think of themselves and their wallet but remember that there’s a whole world out there and lending a helping hand is usually more worth than it’s trouble.

Dean himself has been on the receiving end of that need for help and is now one of those trying to lend that helping hand whenever he can.

He used to be the kid who was walking on the wrong path as a way to react to a shitty family situation. With a mother dead way too soon, an absent father who turned to the bottle as a consequence, and a younger brother Dean felt the need to take care of, lack of money and adult guidance made stealing seem like an easy way to get by.

It was his art teacher that helped him leave that dangerous path, without even knowing how deep into youth crime Dean was by then. She just noticed how angry Dean always was, constantly ready to pick a fight or take part in someone else’s fight, as long as he got to throw some punches. How constantly tired and in a bad mood he was, how spectacularly he was failing his classes all of a sudden. Using one of Dean’s disrespectful reactions during one of her classes as an excuse, she forced him to join the music club she supervised in the afternoon for five weeks, rather than giving him detention. Dean had no choice but to agree, because that would let him get home earlier than regular detention would, and he needed to take care of Sammy, cook dinner and make sure he did his homework before bed – even though Sammy was such a nerd that his homework was basically the one thing in their life Dean really didn’t need to worry about. The other positive side, Dean figured, was that not making a fuss and just accepting the punishment would prevent the school from calling his father. That, Dean knew, had to be avoided at all costs. Dean wasn’t sure John would show up sober and if his teachers realized how off the rail his father really was, they’d have no choice but to call CPS and they’d take Sammy away.

So he wore his big boy pants and sucked it up. His life was pretty much a living hell anyway, his teenage shoulders bearing a way too heavy burden Dean had no way of putting down anytime soon. How much worse could five weeks of listening to his classmates singing off-key make things?

What he didn’t expect was how much he’d end up loving it. The music club was actually made up of a bunch of very interesting characters, from nerds to computer geniuses to football players and everything in between, and he made some friends, such as Kevin, Charlie and Benny, who have by now become family – a family who also includes his former art and music teacher, Mrs. Moseley, now just Missouri, who is the closest thing Dean’s ever had to a mother.

But he also discovered a talent and love for music he didn’t know he had, not as a creator of music. His being a big consumer of music had never been in question, his classic rock cassettes being always blasted whenever he was behind the wheel of his beloved car, a black ‘67 Chevy Impala his father passed onto him when he got his driving license. In a rare moment of lucidity, John told him it was only fair he got the car, as he would be able to take care of her much better that John could anymore. That was the moment Dean realized John was perfectly aware that he was slipping away and had no intention whatsoever of stopping his downward spiral. The confirmation arrived a few years later, when Sammy was a fresher in college, which he was attending on a full ride for academic merit, with John passing away one afternoon due to alcohol poisoning. Dean wasn’t surprised when that happened, it was something he had been waiting for ever since his father put the Impala’s keys in his hand all those years ago. It had been clear that was meant to be a parting gift: a goodbye _and_ an attempt to avoid him bringing the car along in his destructive spiral by wrapping her around a tree while drunk driving. It’s no surprise then that Dean still drives her today and takes good care of her himself, using the mechanic skills he developed thanks to Bobby, the one friend of John’s who stayed by his side until the very end, more for his sons’ benefit than for John himself’s. That car is the one constant reminder that there was a single moment in the life of Dean’s father when he gave enough of a rat’s ass to say goodbye to his oldest son. Plus, she’s a real beauty, drives like no other car ever could, makes Dean forget his troubles when he takes her for a ride like nothing else, and is sexy as fuck, enough that Dean is well aware that some of his hook-ups are as much the result of Dean’s sex appeal skyrocketing when he drives his Baby as of Dean’s face and give ‘em hell attitude.

But Dean had no idea that he could actually _make_ music until a guitar was thrust in his hands on his first day of punishment. He found out he was apparently a natural with a guitar, because he learned to play simple tunes by week three and he never stopped playing after that. He also discovered that he could actually sing, and quite well too, and that singing and playing made him feel good, happy even, when he thought nothing could anymore.

The music club was the one thing that helped him get back on the right track by making him realize his talent – and passion – for making music. Step by step, music started becoming a bigger part of Dean’s life, with him and his friends starting a band and making some money thanks to private parties (including some at college they shouldn’t have taken part in because they were still underage), before they started going to music clubs and expanding their contact network. Some time later, Kevin and Charlie quit after getting their BA to move to another state for their MA and Benny got married, but Dean kept working with music. He decided early on that he wouldn’t go to university, that was Sammy’s dream, not his. After graduating high school, he started working full time at Bobby’s garage, while also never giving up on music. And by the time his band stopped existing, Dean had made a name for himself, so he was constantly contacted to play live or for studio recordings when a guitar and vocalist was needed. It did help that, even without a formal education, Dean spent countless hours on every music theory book and website he could get his hands on, so his natural talent got refined and refined.

One and a half year after John’s death, a buddy of his who owned a recording studio where Dean had been invited to work quite a few times contacted him and told him that he was thinking about retiring in a few years, but wanted to make sure the studio would still be up and running and in the hands of someone who would do right by it and its history.

That was how Dean left his job as a mechanic – but never left Bobby behind as he, very much like Missouri, had always been the closest thing to what a father _should_ be Dean ever had – and started working at the recording studio and learning all there was to learn. Three years later, two years ago now, Dean became the owner of the studio, when its former owner Cain left it to him without asking him a single cent in return. He just handed it over to Dean who, therefore, found himself a business owner with a little sum put aside that he hadn’t needed to use to buy the studio as he thought he would.

The studio has been thriving in the last couple of years, with an uninterrupted stream of musicians who get there through word of mouth when they want a place to record their tracks with a talented, bright, easy-going and capable owner who knows his shit and isn’t afraid to make suggestions to better their work without ever sounding entitled or overbearing.

The obvious result is that Dean is pretty secure from a financial point of view now, while his little brother has become a hot-shot lawyer thanks to his big brain, determination and all the bursaries he got, and none of them wants for anything.

Well, with the exception of a partner, in the case of Dean.

That’s something Dean had never really considered a priority, too much of his time and energies devoted to taking care of Sammy, working, making music and remembering to eat at least twice a day, sleep at least four hours a night and shower at least once a day to really consider a romantic relationship. He didn’t really see the point when all his sexual urges could be taken care of with a night at a bar every once in a while. Lately though... it’s not sex he wants. Well, not _only_ sex. Dean honestly thinks the day he doesn’t want sex will be the day of his funeral. What he wants is sex _and_ companionship. Someone by his side, to tell stuff to, to listen to, to do stuff with, to watch movies and listen to music with, to cook dinner for. Someone who would hug him just because and would want to be hugged just because.

Dean can’t honestly say he’s unhappy. He isn’t. His family and friends love him and he loves them back. Music takes up a big space in his life and in his heart, and is able to fill him with happiness and fulfillment like few other things can. He loves his job, loves spending the days creating and working with talented artists.

Considering how well the studio is doing, he also started a program to help troubled teens last year. Even though he is no Missouri and definitely lacks her innate ability to connect with kids, he figured he had a chance to give back what he was given when he himself was a troubled high schooler on the verge of losing himself once and for all. Twice a week he offers free music classes to the kids in the neighborhood in a space in his studio he decided to turn into a music room for this specific purpose. Dean knows all too well that many of the kids he teaches every week were involved, not so long ago, in the wave of youth crime that had turned the area into a dangerous place to live and do business in, before the city council started investing to reclaim it. Some of them are still dealing with the fallout. Some are struggling with addiction, some are homeless, some have dropped out of school and are now stuck with a minimum-wage job with no hope of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel anytime soon. So Dean gives them a safe space where they can spend a few hours a week, make friends, learn something new, maybe discover a talent much like Dean himself did over those five weeks more than ten years ago.

It’s no surprise then that, between his job, the kids in the neighborhood he’s trying to help stay in line, his family and friends, Dean really has very little time to feel alone. But when that happens, when loneliness hits him, it has a quality it’s never had before – darker, deeper, more difficult to fight, no matter how many distractions Dean has at his disposal. A loneliness that has him slump exhausted on his couch in his too silent apartment and wish he had a pair of arms to fall into instead, a smile to welcome him home, a pair of lips that would kiss his temple before a nose would nuzzle his hair and a sigh of relief at having Dean back home would follow.

‘Wow, Winchester, way to go on a tangent there, buddy. It’s just a freaking chest.’

Yep, his mind is right, Dean thinks as he releases a sigh. It’s time he stopped allowing his thoughts to wander like that and he started unpacking. He’s gonna stay here for two whole weeks, might as well make himself at home.

The clock on the wall says it’s 10 PM though, and he’s frankly exhausted.

Alright, change of plan.

Unpacking tomorrow, bed now. It’s too much to hope the mattress is memory foam, right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has breakfast at the hotel for the first time. Meetings ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going away for a few days and getting back at the beginning of next week, so I thought I'd post this earlier rather than later :-D
> 
> I'm actually pretty excited to share this chapter with you. After soooo much exposition, our boys finally meet. Let me know what you think about it?
> 
> As usual, thank you so much, a big hug and endless cookies to every beautiful soul who showed loved for the fic and me in any way, big or small, so far. Y'all amazing :-*

Dean wants to move here indefinitely, he muses while stretching on the bed. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep this well. Man, was he wrong. The mattress _is_ memory foam. All his muscles, as well as his mind, feel rested and refreshed, and he experiences that warm feeling of being ready to get back to reality in top shape that only a good night’s sleep can give you.

Can this place get any better? Dean doubts that, considering the whole thing has already exceeded his expectations, which were already quite high, for a small three-star hotel.

But then he starts considering all the elements he hasn’t listed in the ‘pros’ yet, and concludes that the place can get better – _is_ better – alright. Starting from the pillows, those fancy ones that help prevent neck pains, and the sheets Dean’s been more than happy to roll around in all night and is regretful to have to leave in a few minutes, which are oh so soft and smell of lavender.

Finally forcing himself to get up to start his day allows for even more items to be added to his pros list.

His next stop is the bathroom. He didn’t take more than a perfunctory look around last night, too wiped up from the day’s events, as he was brushing his teeth and relieving himself before bed. But now that he looks around with a bit of attention, he can see how much care went into every little detail of the en suite. The tiles have a color that matches the palette used in the room. Besides the usual towels and personal care products, there’s a cute little stool with a basket containing additional towels and products, so you don’t have to call the reception in case you need more of those things. Taking a closer look at the items on the single-vanity sink, Dean notes with a smile that the little braided basket placed there contains two foiled condoms and a small bottle of lube, in addition to a little bar of soap and those travel size bottles of face and body cream you usually find in hotels. The people in this establishment _really_ have their costumers’ comfort and safety in mind.

When he steps into the shower, he can’t help but marvel at how spacious it is and at what an incredible water pressure it has. The products he finds in there are green and eco-friendly, the label proudly says, and he can see, and smell, that both the shampoo and the shower gel are based on lavender. There’s someone who has an obsession with lavender in this place, isn’t there?

The little smile that thought elicits is soon forgotten, however, when Dean starts massaging his scalp with the deliciously-smelling shampoo and the combination of the warm water hitting his muscles, the nice smell filling his nostrils and being amplified by the vapor rising up, and the touch of his finger pads against his scalp send him straight to sensory heaven and relax him just like he needs after the day he had yesterday.

The whole day he simply didn’t have one single moment for himself. He was too busy with a seemingly endless to-do list. First he had to finish packing the suitcases he then left in the truck of his Baby all day long and that he would need for his extended stay at the hotel, where he could only check-in after dinner. Secondly, he had to finish bringing a dozen boxes in the storage room he had to rent, since the construction workers would have to fix both the outside of the building and the inside of some apartments, Dean’s included, and he didn’t want to leave anything valuable in there, either from a monetary or sentimental point of view, with unknown construction workers storming the place. Finally, he also had to spend the rest of the day at the studio dealing with a musician that was uncharacteristically whining, as if Dean hadn’t already been hanging on a very, very thin thread as it was by then. When it rains, it pours, right?

This shower feels like a reward for dealing with the previous day’s trials and surviving, so taking a few extra minutes to get himself not only clean but also properly relaxed doesn’t sound like such a crime to Dean.

As he’s drying himself with the extra fluffy and extra big towel he’s been provided, Dean feels _good_ , the kind of good you feel when you are safe and taken care of, and he can’t help but consider how weird it is to have that kind of feeling in a place that should, for all intent and purposes, feel foreign and instrumental, rather than safe and welcoming.

His mind goes back to the reviews then, many of which point out precisely that. That Hotel Eden is a hotel like few others, where hospitality isn’t a job but a mission, and the more Dean stays here, the more he understands why all those reviews are so stellar. Dean hopes he’ll get to meet the owner with the weird name, as almost every review sings his praise as the most welcoming person on the planet.

While he’s getting dressed, a rumble coming from the pit of his stomach reminds him that his lunch and dinner the day before were quick and absolutely unsatisfactory, so a big breakfast is what he needs to make sure this day keeps going as well as it has started. The reviews do say that breakfast at this hotel is a real treat, varied and with something for every taste and dietary need, and prepared with top quality products. Apparently, it is also served in a very nice room that faces a beautiful garden and where the morning sunlight gives the place an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

Dean can appreciate beauty like the next person, but he’d lied if he said that the breakfast room is as much of a priority for him as the breakfast food. He’s _starving_.

As he’s closing his bedroom door, Dean realizes that he can’t recall what the demon woman at the front desk told him yesterday about the location of the breakfast room. ‘Oh well,’ he thinks with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘just go downstairs and follow your nose.’

As predicted, the delicious smell of coffee, pancakes and bacon guides Dean to a room which is really nice indeed. The room is quite big and the tables are of different shapes and sizes – some round, some rectangular, some square, clearly meant to sit both individuals or couples as well as larger groups of people or families. The number of each table is painted on a small bee-shaped center piece that Dean finds absolutely cute for some reason. What is more, the chairs are all different too, in both shape and color, and match the corresponding tables perfectly. There are also a few small couches and sets of armchairs scattered along the walls, with small coffee tables in front of each couch or set of armchairs, and they all are flanked by a small bookcase filled with volumes of all shapes and sizes. Dean can see, even from the entrance to the room, that some are clearly novels, others are children books, while others still are some pretty big volumes that look more like manuals. And dictionaries. There are also dictionaries. Well, that’s clever. Hotels host tourists and tourists come from all over the world. If someone doesn’t know how to phrase what they need, a dictionary can come in handy.

The whole wall to Dean’s right is faced by a long, rectangular table that seems to host every kind of food under the sun. Fruit, vegetables, bread and dripping, jams, butter and honey, cereals, cold milk of _eight_ different qualities, including a lactose-free carton, three types of diary milk and four kinds of plant milk. Everything looks fresh and is very well presented and lifting his gaze from the table allows Dean to see a big square in the wall thanks to which everyone can look into the kitchen, where Dean can see a cook and another man he assumes is a waiter dealing with warm dishes. So this is not a place where warm dishes are prepared beforehand and left in those metallic containers to keep warm. They are made _at the moment_. And you can see the people who make them and how they are made clearly. Dean appreciates that more than he can say. It’s a clear sign that the people who work here know their work is impeccable and they have nothing to hide, so they showcase it instead.

Dean’s confidence about choosing this place to spend the next two weeks of his life, which was already high enough to be in the stratosphere, has just skyrocketed and it’s in Mars now.

The paintings on the wall – all portraying natural sceneries or animals and painted in bright, but soft colors – and the background music – not too loud but not too low either, classic but of the energizing kind – complete the ensemble and make Dean think, yet again, about how accurate the reviews he read were: everything is carefully thought about and organized to offer customers not only breakfast, but a whole experience. A safe transition from the night’s sleep to the day’s wakefulness.

Dean can’t help but smile at the thought.

He’s taking a look around to decide which table to sit at when-

“Jack??”

The kid’s confused frown smooths into a combination of brilliant smile and excited eyes when he replies “Dean? What are you doing here?”

“What am I-? What are _you_ doing here?”

“Is everything alright, Jack?” a deep voice that goes straight to the Dean’s cock says and Dean turns toward the direction the sexy voice came from to find the most beautiful man he’s ever seen squinting at him as if he could smite Dean with the force of his look. Dean’s first conscious thought is ‘If Jack has a father, why is he living in the street?’, because damn if this guy here isn’t the spitting image of the kid, and the second is ‘Can you please be into guys and, more specifically, into me?’

Luckily Jack interjects before Dean’s renowned lack of brain-mouth filter can be demonstrated in all its awkward glory in front of the Father of All Things Hot to reply “Everything’s great Mr. N, I was just saying hi to my music teacher.”

“Your...music teacher?” The deadly squint turns into a confused frown that’s an _exact_ replica of the one Jack was wearing a moment ago. Wait, is this really Jack’s father? But no, Jack called him “Mr. N”, so what gives?

“Yeah, Dean here offers free music classes to all the kids in the neighborhood. Apparently, “I can’t sing for shit but I’m not a total disaster with a keyboard””, Jack says in what is supposed to be an accurate impression of Dean which, however, misses its mark by a mile because Dean’s way smoother than that, and not even the frankly adorable air quotes he used can make up for that, and wait-, what did the kid just say??

“That’s... I didn’t exactly use those words-“

“-Yes, you did,” the boy protests, annoyed frown in place in response to having been called a liar when he might have actually remembered Dean’s words far more accurately than Dean thought he would. He really needs to check his tongue when the kids are around, dammit. A diversion is necessary.

“Hi, I’m Dean,” he extends his hand and accompanies the gesture with the most charming smile he’s got in his arsenal.

“Castiel”, aka Mr N., aka the Father of All Things Hot, aka the Man of Dean’s Dreams, replies while returning Dean’s handshake with a powerful grip and yes, please, what else can these strong, capable hands do?

Wait. Castiel?? “Oh! The owner of the place.”

“Yes?” Castiel replies with a head tilt+confused squint combo that has Dean’s insides squirm pleasurably at the thought that someone so unmistakably handsome can also be this adorable.

He has to clear his throat before the replies to the man’s unspoken question. “The reviews? They talk about the place and you, and they’re right. Absolutely beautiful.”

Castiel’s confusion kicks up two notches. “The reviews say I’m beautiful?”

Fuck.

“The hotel! They say the hotel is beautiful!” Dean ends up saying while what he’s thinking is ‘Even though the hotel can’t hold a candle to its owner. Damn, look at those lips’. Dean thanks the good night’s sleep and the refreshing shower for the uncharacteristically good performance of his brain-mouth filter today.

“And, you know, they’re right,” he adds with what he hopes it’s a reassuring smile that will keep at bay any worry Castiel might have that he’s a total creep.

Speaking of total creeps, there’s still something they haven’t exactly clarified.

“Anyways, this explains why I know him. It doesn’t explain what he’s doing here when I know for a fact that Jack can’t afford a place like this,” Dean points out while pinching his eyebrows closer together, hoping that’ll be an enquiring enough expression for Castiel to hear the implicit request for an explanation. Super hot owner or not, super nice hotel or not, if this man is actually a sleazeball taking advantage of an 18 year old innocent boy who’s in a difficult situation, Dean is leaving this place super fast and taking the kid with him. And probably punching the guy in the face before doing that, for good measure.

Before Castiel has a chance to even open his mouth to reply, Jack supplies “Mister N lets us stay here for a few nights from time to time, when the shelter is at top capacity. And if he needs help he also lets us work, and he _pays_ us for that, or let us stay longer,” the kid’s getting more and more excited as he speaks, and it’s an uplifting sight to see a young man like Jack, who’s quiet by nature and often sad by nurture, get this lively.

“He offers us a place to sleep, breakfast and laundry, Dean, and we can _showe_ r. He’s very nice, even lets us use the computer in the common room if no one else needs it. Mr N says that I should consider taking my GED, seeing as I can study both here and at the public library.”

“You should, Jack, you’re a bright young man,” Castiel says around an indulgent smile. It’s clear he’s thinking what Dean’s thinking. That Jack is a good kid who’s been dealt a shitty hand he didn’t deserve. What he deserves is, rather, someone who can give him a little support so he can turn his life around. Who knows what Jack might be able to achieve if he got a chance to go back on the right track.

Apparently, Castiel is, like Dean, trying to offer some of that support the best way he knows how. Dean’s heard of someone in the neighborhood doing that, a hotel owner offering homeless kids safe haven for a few days free of charge. It had made him feel better to know that someone else cared about them like Dean does, but he had no idea who that person was, considering Castiel’s not the only hotel in the neighborhood. Figures it had to be the toiletries recycling owner of this hotel.

So apparently this man is beautiful, has a sexy voice, is charitable, and owns a place that makes it its mission to make people feel at home without robbing them of their money. He can’t be into dating dudes too, can he? That would be asking the Universe too much.

Oh well, even though Dean stands no chance with this jewel of a man, that doesn’t mean he cannot be civil, right? Who knows, they might even become friends in the next two weeks. A new friend is still a treasure.

“So you’re the hotel owner who sometimes puts kids up for free that I’ve heard about?

“Yeah, well, I just know that if I hadn’t been as good as I was to hide my homosexuality from my parents as a teenager, or if I had been truly in love with one of my high school sweethearts and thus unable to hide it at all, I would have ended up on the streets just like them, so,” Castiel replies casually, shrugging his shoulders, as if he hadn’t just shaken the foundations of Dean’s world.

Fuck Dean’s life, and Dean too ('Yes, _please_ ' his downstairs brain begs right away). This jewel of a man is _gay_. Even better, he’s totally out and proud like Dean himself is. Dean should probably try and find out if he’s already taken, and possibly buy a ring, before he falls on one knee and proposes, right?

Right.

If Dean wants to have a chance to find that out, he needs to keep making his brain-to-mouth filter work like it has so far. So while he’s having a silent freak out in his head, where the sentence ‘I might have a chance with Mr Gorgeous!’ is being repeated on a loop, he says instead “I take it that your parents don’t like it that you’re into men?”

“They disowned me as soon as they found out.”

And with an experience like that, Castiel can still be so kind with others?

Is the ring _really_ necessary to propose? Can’t Dean, like, propose now and buy the ring after breakfast? No? OK. Point taken. Stupid conventions.

Still, Dean wants Cas to feel appreciated and validated, and he also wants to take the chance to let him know he’s not the only one who swings that way. So he replies “Well, their loss. Let them endure their sad, hateful life in doucheland while we make the most of Eden without them,” before winking at the man and smiling his signature Winchester seductive smile.

The smile he gets in response is dazzling. Perfect white teeth and gums showing. Even his strikingly blue eyes get brighter when Castiel smiles like that. And Dean thought he was beautiful before. Wow.

“So, what would you like?”

‘You,’ Dean thinks.

“Mm?” Dean says.

“To eat? For breakfast?” Cas replies, with an amused smirk. Dean’s totally been caught. Just as well. If Castiel doesn’t like the attention, he’ll find a polite way to let Dean know his interest isn’t welcome.

“Is it too much to hope for both bacon and pancakes? And dark coffe?”

“Your wish is my command,” a smiling Castiel says before bowing a little and then walking away in the direction of the kitchen, which he only enters after tossing a _look_ at Dean over his shoulder.

Was that...a flirtation? Is the hot owner flirting with him?!

Hell, _yeah_.

Dean doesn’t want to read too much into it, but he’s pretty sure there’s a jewelry at the corner down the street. They’re likely to have engagement rings too.

Jack’s voice interrupts Dean’s daydream and makes him realize he was still staring at the place Castiel had vacated when he left for the kitchen. Way to be subtle, Winchester.

“I have to go now, Dean, I have work to do,” the kid informs him with a proud smile. Castiel isn’t just giving these kids shelter, he’s helping them find purpose again. That’s just as important as a bed and food. “I have to go to the storage room and count of all the products to put in bedrooms they still have, so Mister N knows how much he needs to order next month.”

Smart. A simple, yet important, job that will take probably half a day – leaving the rest of the day for Jack to check the info about the GED, after a little nudge from Castiel, if Dean had to make a bet – but one that won’t have too many negative consequences if the kid makes a mistake with counting. Castiel will probably just order a little more of everything to be on the safe side. That’s what Dean would do.

“It’s a very important job, Mister N said so, because they can’t risk running out of products to stoke up bedrooms with.” The kid gets closer to Dean to whisper “It would make them look _unprofessional_ ”. The inflection he used and significant look Jack is giving Dean now are meant to make him understand Jack has just shared a big secret with him. God, this kid is too adorable for his own good.

Dean has to force himself to suppress a chuckle. “I understand, Jack. Castiel is right, you should pay a lot of attention to this task.”

“I will!” Jack replies with a big smile that makes his dimples appear. “Mister N even insisted I had a double portion of bacon and fruit for breakfast this morning. He says that’s brain food, so I needed it even more today.”

So apparently, Dean’s future husband is a sneaky manipulator on top of everything else (‘Shall we not think about tops in relation to Castiel, yeah?’) when it comes to kids in need. Dean’s future husband is an amazing creature.

“Of course, that was a very wise suggestion.”

“It was! I actually feel full of energy right now, so I’m gonna go, ok? Enjoy your breakfast!”

And with that and another happy smile, the kid is leaving the room with the bounce in his step – the very picture of a man on a mission.

Dean sighs and realizes he’s still smiling. He wonders if Castiel knows what he’s doing here. How contagious and inspiring the positive atmosphere he’s created in this place is. Dean hopes he does, and he’s as proud of himself as he should be.

While he’s waiting for breakfast to be served, Dean chooses a small square table for two that allows him a perfect view of the kitchen, where Castiel is clearly bantering with the cook, and of the backyard garden. Once again, the reviews were spot on. A well-kept patio leads to a garden with trimmed grass where different tables, chairs, armchairs and sofas are scattered around the place – their style completely different from the furniture in the breakfast room and clearly meant for the outdoors. Approximately half of them – those made out of wood rather than metal – are placed under big waterproof umbrellas that also protect from the sun. This way, people can choose if they want to enjoy the sun if the day is sunny, but they can also stay in the garden if it’s raining. The system allows for the garden to be used and appreciated all year round. There’s literally nothing that hasn’t been meticulously planned in this place.

Dean can’t help a little laugh when he notices what was used to mark the perimeter of the garden. Lavender bushes. _Of course_.

“There you go, Dean,” Castiel announces his return with a tray filled to the brim of steaming, heavenly smelling goodness. In no time, a cup of black coffee and a plate with golden, fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon is placed in front of his very happy nose and eyes.

“I hope you’ll find everything to your liking. Please let me know if you need anything else from me, I won’t be far.”

With the double entendre still in the air and a knowing smile, Castiel looks at Dean for a second more and then he’s off to clean a table that’s been recently vacated.

Future Mr. Winchester is a tease, then. ‘Me likey,’ Dean thinks while he replays Castiel’s words in his head and shamelessly ogles him while he’s busy with the other table. Kudos to whoever designed those jeans because oh boi do they put Castiel’s perfectly round ass on display. And those _thighs_? Castiel must have a permit to walk those weapons around.

A wave of coffee smell brings him back to his breakfast. Right, Dean was starving. He feels far less interested in food now, as a different type of hunger is boiling in his veins. But he can’t let this much food go to waste and he has a working day ahead of him and needs his sustenance. He also doesn’t think Castiel would be happy if he didn’t eat his breakfast. ‘You met him all of twelve minutes ago and are already making decisions based on what you think would make him happy?’ the voice of reason in his head enquirers. ‘Of course I am,’ Dean’s voice replies, ‘that’s my future husband. A man gotta make his husband happy. What’s the saying? “Happy husband, happy life”.’

The first drink of his coffee only solidifies his decision to propose soon. Castiel was the one who made the coffee while the cook was dealing with pancakes and bacon. Whoever can make coffee that tastes this good deserves that someone put a ring on it and, in this specific case, that Dean does so.

His first bite sends Dean straight to heaven and he’s pretty vocal in his appreciation. He didn’t even do that on purpose, but he still has a pretty nice view of Castiel’s back muscles tensing and his head lifting up slightly from where it was bent on the table he was resetting when he heard Dean’s moan. Being vocal is a good way to rile Castiel up. Dean files the information away for later.

Dean goes through his breakfast enjoying his food, coffee, and the nice view of both the garden hit by the sunlight and Castiel welcoming guests with his bright and open smile and caring attitude. It’s incredible how everyone seems to relax almost instantly around him. This man’s a real charmer, and a miracle worker.

His thoughts stray from time to time to the organization of his day. He had meant to unpack before heading to work, but he’s obviously taking more time than he thought he would with breakfast, and has no intention of cutting it short. Who knows if the owner of the place supervising breakfast is a regular occurrence or not. Dean needs to make the most of this chance. But he has a recording session at the studio he cannot be late for, so unpacking his bags will have to wait until later when he gets back from work.

“Was everything alright?” Castiel’s voice interrupts his train of thought while Dean’s eyes are fixed on the garden.

“Someone here likes lavender, eh?”

Oh, pink is a _great_ look on Castiel’s beautiful face. “That’d be me,” the man replies while studiously keeping his eyes on the table that he’s started to clean.

“I figured that was the case. You know, from the honey, the sheets, the shower products and now,” Dean points at the backyard, “the bushes.”

“You’re observant,” Castiel comments, sounding impressed. “It’s a smell that both relaxes and energizes, and I like it very much. And lavender bushes are great to attract bees.”

“Bees? Why would someone want to _attract_ bees?”

“They are at risk of extinction, Dean!” Castiel replies, suddenly very animated. “If they die, we die! We all have to do what we can to feed them and keep them alive. Plus, they work so hard, and give us honey. Did you know that, if unopened, a jar of honey can keep indefinitely? That’s how precious honey is and-“ the man cuts himself off, his blush coming back with a vengeance. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Gabe - that’d be my brother -“

“You’re still in touch with your brother?” Dean asks before he can stop himself. ‘Woah, inappropriate much Winchester?!’

“Um, he’s the only family I’m in touch with,” Castiel offers in response, making it clear he doesn’t want to go any deeper into the subject. Fair enough. “He says I tend to ramble when discussing the things I’m passionate about. And I, um, am passionate about bees.” Hence, the bee-shaped center pieces.

Smoldering hot, toiletries recycling, benefactor of kids in need, deliciously teasing, lavender enthusiast, adorably dorky, _and_ bee saving. Dean has _no hope_ of not falling for this guy. Once he’s fixed the ring issue, Dean should start looking into honeymoon venues. Anywhere is fine by him, really, as long as he doesn’t have to fly to go there. There’s also the tiny detail of finding out if Castiel’s already spoken for. But the man doesn’t strike Dean as a douchebag, quite the opposite, so he doesn’t think Castiel would be this flirty if he was already committed to someone.

“I get that, Cas,” the nickname leaves Dean’s lips without his permission. Crap, maybe Castiel doesn’t like it when someone is so forward-

But Cas’s adorable head tilt is followed but that beautiful smile he’s blessed Dean with earlier. “Cas,” he repeats. “I like it,” he concludes with a little nod. What an adorable dork.

“Then Cas it is,” Dean winks. Yep, still got it, Winchester. “And It’s OK, you know, to ramble about what you love. I’m the same. Don’t let me start talking about music,” he jokes.

“Oh, I love music!” Cas lights up.

A music lover too? This man is like his hotel: he gets better and better.

“Maybe you’ll talk to me about it one of these mornings?” Castiel demands, clearly on instinct. He then seems to realize something and backtracks. “I mean, if you plan to stay longer than just today, that is.”

Right. Being the owner doesn’t mean he can remember all the reservations by heart.

“I’m staying for two weeks,” Dean replies before taking a final sip of his coffee, hungry eyes fixed on Cas above the edge of his cup. “I’d love to discuss music with you, Cas.”

There it is, that smile again. Dean thinks he might be ready to do just about anything if that meant putting that gummy smile on Castiel’s face again and again.

Dean’s known from the start that choosing this place was the right thing to do, but _damn_. If his confidence reached Mars before breakfast, it’s in _Neptune_ now, he thinks, as he watches Cas go back to the kitchen and a wicked grin spreads on his face when he realizes he’s already looking forward to his breakfast tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has a lot on his mind, and has a very interesting conversation with one of his guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the love and support, you're amazing and I feel so lucky and spoiled <3 
> 
> Please enjoy the new update. Time we saw what Cas thinks of his new guest ;-)

“Clarence?”

“Mm?”

“Daydreaming about our distinguished guest again?”

A raise of Meg’s eyebrows is enough to make Castiel realize he shouldn’t even try to lie. She caught him red handed.

He was, indeed, daydreaming about one of their guests.

Dean Winchester.

The most perfect man Castiel has ever met in his life. The kind of perfect one doesn’t think can ever be real.

He was totally unprepared for it too, the first time Castiel came face to face with him. He thought Dean was a jackass harassing poor Jack and had barreled into the breakfast room ready to toss the man out on his ass, when Dean had turned around and made Castiel’s systems shut down one by one. Those green eyes, those heart shaped, plush lips, and those freckles. Castiel stopped being able to think for a few seconds and even forgot he was supposed to be furious with him.

For a brief moment he even had the fleeting thought that the man looked like the driver of the sexy black car, but he dismissed it immediately. Someone who looked like _that_ couldn’t drive _that_ car. It would be too much power in the hands of one single person, the Universe wouldn’t be so reckless.

Except, it totally could. Dean was no other than the proud owner and driver of “Baby”, the sexy, black muscle car that might have starred in one or two of the sexual fantasies Castiel indulges in before bed when he feels like getting himself off. He might have dreamed to ride the driver of the car in its backseat a few times. _Hard_. Recklessly. Uncaring of the consequences on his poor ass for the week to come.

In those fantasies, the man’s features were fuzzy at best, reconstructed from what Castiel had glimpsed of him from the windows of his hotel. They are now far more defined. Yes, Castiel still fantasizes about riding the driver of the car in the backseat as if the first prize of the rodeo to beat all rodeos was at stake. Only, the man’s features aren’t blurry any more. These days, Castiel doesn’t ride the driver of the car. He rides _Dean Winchester_.

Dean didn’t stay just for just one night. When Castiel asked him that first morning at breakfast, his insides had churned unpleasantly at the thought that the gorgeous man might have been there – under Castiel’s roof – having breakfast after a one night stand. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone used his hotel for that purpose, preferring a neutral ground to bringing their partner home and into their own space. The mere thought had made hot jealousy course through Castiel’s veins. He hadn’t met the man longer than a few minutes but he already wanted to be the one this beautiful creature would take into his arms, and into his bed. Technically, Castiel’s bed, but honestly who cared about that.

When Dean replied he was going to stay for two weeks, Castiel felt his soul light up like a billboard in Times Square. He still had no idea why Dean needed to stay at Hotel Eden that long, especially as it had been clear from their interaction with Jack that the man actually worked in the neighborhood, but Castiel wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Fifteen days meant fifteen breakfasts, fifteen opportunities to see him and talk with him, and Castiel had every intention of making the most of them all. Especially as Dean had more than implied he was into men too, and contrary to what Gabe thinks and never hesitates to tell his younger brother, Castiel isn’t completely naive. It had been clear from the very first moment that Dean was attracted to him, which is why Castiel was so carefree in talking about his sexual orientation. He knew the news would be well received, and the poorly concealed elation rolling off of Dean in waves had been all the confirmation Castiel needed.

It’s been eleven days since Dean checked in now, and Castiel found out that Dean and the car driver are actually the same person during their morning conversation over breakfast on day three of his stay.

Since that first, blissful morning, Dean has taken his sweet time having breakfast and chatting with Castiel. He never seems to be in a hurry, which Castiel attributes to him being his own boss and thus being able to schedule his working day as it best fits his needs. And his needs seem to revolve around slowly but surely eating every kind of food and drink they serve – he even confessed to be trying hot tea with honey for the first time in his life and liking it far more than he thought he would – and getting to know Castiel. Because their conversations are never purposeless. On the contrary, they’ve talked about one thing they like or dislike a day. If music was the topic of conversation Dean chose on day two, his car was the topic of day three. It didn’t take Castiel much to connect the dots, even though he’s pretty sure his brain melted a little when he realized that _yes, Dean Winchester drives the sexy black car_ – “a ‘67 black Chevy Impala, Cas, a real beauty like you don’t see often these days”.

They’ve talked about their favorite films, books and foods. They discussed how much Dean dislikes flying and people who wear sunglasses indoors (“You know who does that? Crazy people, and douchebags!”) and how uncomfortable Castiel is with anyone who’s too fervent from a religious point of view. Any of these topics have inevitably led the two of them to share bits and pieces of their past and share little anecdotes about their families and friends too.

Their conversations always flow so easily too. They never seem to run out of subjects to discuss and even when there’s a lull in the conversation, the silence is never awkward or uncomfortable. It’s companionable.

Basically, Castiel feels like they’ve spent the last eleven days dating without ever leaving the premises of the hotel. Even more so these past couple of days, since their conversations started happening not only at breakfast, but also in the garden after dinner.

Two evenings ago, Castiel was looking for a book he was certain he’d stored in one of the bookcases in the breakfast room when he noticed Dean was lounging on one of the couches in the garden, seemingly lost in thought while watching the darkening sky. Book forgotten – Castiel still, two days later, doesn’t remember what book it was, so it probably wasn’t important anyway – he made his way outside before he even had time to ponder the decision.

The teeth-showing, eyes-crinkling, happy smile he got in response to his request to join Dean on the couch was all the reassurance Castiel needed to know that his decision to forget about what books even are was the best one he could have made.

They spent more than one hour talking about their day and sharing stories about the people in their lives who are somehow connected with their jobs. Dean was particularly interested in knowing how someone like Meg (aka the She-devil, according to Dean) and someone seemingly so calm and collected like Castiel could be best friends. Telling Dean about some of their adventures in college resulted in both Dean and Castiel having to wipe away tears of laughter from their faces.

“Would you, um, be amenable to do this again tomorrow evening?” Castiel had asked when it became clear the long working day was finally taking its toll and their evening together was about to end.

Dean had rolled his head from where it was resting on the couch backrest to look at Castiel with a soft, smiling expression.

“Amenable? Yes, Cas. I would be _amenable_. Even more so if a couple of beers would join us too,” he had quipped with a flirty smile and a wink that had Castiel’s cock fatten up almost instantly. Gosh, he wanted to sit on Dean’s lap and ride him there and then. The couch wasn’t the Impala and they would have certainly offered the hotel guests a show they hadn’t paid for, but Castiel firmly believes in making do with what you have rather than sit and wait for what you want. Unless what you want is what you sit on, of course. In that case, you should definitely sit on it. And Castiel wanted to sit on Dean’s cock really, _really_ bad. 

Collecting himself at the very last instant, he’d smiled and told Dean “That can be arranged,” before bidding him goodnight and taking his leave.

So that’s how Castiel spent last evening. Beer in hand, sitting next to Dean Winchester on a couch in the garden of his hotel, soaking up every last bit of information about himself the gorgeous man felt like sharing with Castiel. It’s also how he hopes he’ll spend his evening today. That still doesn’t make him any less greedy for the opportunity to see Dean again in a few minutes, when he’ll come down for breakfast.

No matter how much he sees of him, how much they talk, Castiel keeps wanting _more_. That is, after all, the only way Castiel has to get to know him. He has determinedly resisted the urge to go snoop around Dean’s personal information they had to collect when he checked in. They have a copy of his ID. Castiel could find out where he lives, where he was born, and when.

He’s been tempted. Oh, how _tempted_ he’s been.

‘What if he had a birthday while he’s a guest of ours? We could throw him a little birthday breakfast,’ his mind voice had suggested.

‘We never do that,’ Gabe’s mind voice had replied.

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Castiel’s mind voice had snapped back, somewhat irritated.

‘Castiel, you _dog,_ ’ Gabe’s mind voice had replied, proud and appreciative.

It was precisely the pride and appreciation in his brother’s tone in his head that had brought Castiel back on the righteous path. If Gabriel thinks something is a good idea, that usually means Castiel should do the opposite.

That was enough to remind Castiel that the correct and respectful thing to do is learning about Dean at Dean’s pace, thanks to anything the other man decides he’s ready to share with Castiel during their conversations. Castiel simply cannot take advantage of being the person who’s putting a roof above Dean’s head right now.

He feels that there’s _something_ there, between him and Dean. Something that could be significant, even long term, regardless of how afraid Castiel is of getting his hopes up too high and see them crushed and burned when Dean inevitably leaves his hotel. He cannot help but _hope_. And if there’s even one in a million chance that Dean might want to keep showing up even after his two-week stay is over, Castiel will not blow it by breaching his trust before their relationship has even begun.

“Jesus, Clarence. You’ve _really_ got it bad. Guests have started coming down for breakfast and you didn’t even notice.”

“Shit!” Castiel replies while hurrying towards the breakfast room.

He’s _really_ got it bad. He’s _never_ this distracted while at work.

He feels guilty enough for neglecting his guests that he’s led to overcompensate by being super zealous – a bit more servicing than usual, a bit chattier than usual, a bit more complimenting than usual, making sure the guests’ portions are a bit bigger than usual.

He feels guilty enough that even when Dean enters the room – Castiel feels his eyes on him even before he sees the man himself – he doesn’t abandon the nice family he’s taking care of like he would have done otherwise – like he’s done every other morning as soon as Dean set foot in the breakfast room – to go wait on him right away and not waste a single second of his precious time to look his fill and talk with him.

When he finally can go attend to Dean without feeling guilty about abandoning his other guests to do so, Castiel is welcome by his radiant smile. His knees go a little weak all of a sudden.

“Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. How are you today?”

“I’m pretty great. Those memory foam mattresses you have here and the showers... Dude. _A+_. Make me feel like a champ every morning.”

A warm feeling courses through Castiel’s entire body. He’s providing for his guests like he’s always wanted to, creating a welcoming and pleasant space for them. Even better, he’s providing for _Dean_. If Castiel doesn’t get a grip, he’ll end up peeing on the man and rubbing his own scent all over him.

“I’m so glad you find your room to your liking, Dean,” he replies with a bashful smile. The fact that he feels emboldened knowing his hotel is running as good as he wants it to doesn’t mean he’s good at taking compliments. Especially when they are offered so freely and with so much sincerity by the most beautiful man Castiel’s ever interacted with.

“What language was that?”

“Mmh?”

“The family you were talking with when I arrived. That wasn’t English, was it?”

“Oh, right. No, it wasn’t. It was Russian.”

“You can speak _Russian_?”

Dean doesn’t have some cold-war era ‘Russians are our enemies’ preconceptions, right?

“Well, yeah. I-, um, graduated in Modern Languages. Russian and French.”

“You can speak not one but _two_ foreign languages?!” Dean’s tone seems...impressed? A pleasant feeling starts spreading through Castiel’s belly. He’s sure if he had a tail, he would be fanning it right now.

“Yes,” Castiel replies eloquently, dropping his gaze because he knows his cheeks have started to color a bit. He’s really _bad_ at taking compliments. So much for wanting to impress Dean with his remarkable skills. He’s sure he looks like a shy school boy more than an accomplished man right now.

“Wow,” Dean, sweet Dean, comments, blissfully not calling Castiel out on his bout of shyness. “I can’t speak any language other than English. But that must be... _awesome_. I mean, it’s basically a super power! You just go somewhere else and you understand what people are saying to you.”

“Yes! And not only that. Speaking another language is... Dean, you have no idea. It opens the gates of your mind! It’s not just that you can understand when people talk. It’s- it’s a whole different way of thinking, you know? You realize that your way of seeing reality and talking about it is just _one_ way, but there are others, many others. So your way is not better or worse, is one of many and-.” Damnit! He’s doing it _again_! “Sorry. I-, um. I ramble when-“

“You talk about something you’re passionate about,” Dean completes for him with an indulgent smile. Only to continue before Castiel even has a chance to reply, “So if I want to see you light up like a Christmas tree, I can ask you to talk about bees or foreign languages. Noted,” he concludes with a playful smirk.

This man is gonna have Castiel on all fours ready to crawl and follow him around like a puppy. Castiel can only hope he’s the kind of man who uses his power wisely.

“So that’s why you decided to open a hotel? I mean, being able to speak foreign languages must come in handy here, right?”

“Not exactly.”

Castiel’s words are clearly starting to run away from him, just like his treacherous thoughts. “I mean, yes, it does come in handy, but. Um, I decided to open this hotel so there would be a place where everyone could feel welcome and safe. Including myself.”

Truth be told, it was never Castiel’s intention to get so personal and deep. But, in the spirit of honesty, he’s not spent the last however many days just dreaming of riding Dean into the sunset. He might have also dreamed about having a proper relationship – conversations and confessions included – with him. So maybe opening up a bit and seeing how Dean reacts will help Castiel understand whether that is on the table or not?

‘It is,’ Castiel’s mind voice tells him when he sees Dean’s reaction.

Dean is looking at him with a mixture of awe and understanding. From what Castiel’s seen and heard so far, Dean is a very perceptive man, so he probably doesn’t need too much information to put two and two together and conclude what Castiel has just said is linked to what he told Dean on day one, about his parents disowning him to try and chase away the gay.

“Well, for what it worth, I think you succeeded,” Dean says with what can only be described as a proud smile. Dean is proud on Castiel’s behalf.

Castiel is gonna ride Dean _beyond_ the sunset.

“It’s worth more than you can imagine, Dean. Thank you,” he can only reply, a little chocked up as he feels right now.

Dean clears his throat, clearly sensing they’ve somehow ventured into very private territory which would maybe be better explored during one of their evening’s conversations in the garden, surrounded by the quiet and the fading light, rather than in the middle of breakfast with the whole of the hotel waking up around them.

“Still, this doesn’t explain why the owner takes care of breakfast? You an early bird or something?”

Castiel can’t help a full belly laugh at that.

“Quite the opposite, in fact. My brother says I‘m the crankiest person on earth between waking up and my second cup of coffee in the morning.”

Dean laughs too. “That makes it even weirder that you should do this then!”

Still smiling, Castiel replies “I think that’s precisely why I have chosen to keep this part of the job for myself. I hate waking up _so much_ that I like the idea of helping others do it with a relaxing atmosphere, some good food and a healthy dose of strong coffee.”

“Gotta say, if that is your goal, you sure achieved it. I simply love having breakfast here. And the handsome and interesting owner of the hotel is not the only reason,” Dean ends on a wink as if he hasn’t just set Castiel’s groin _on fire_.

His face is on fire too, Castiel can feel it. He’s blushing now, on top of everything else. Yep, he’s really rocking the shy school boy look this morning.

“I-, um, thank you, Dean. I’m _really_ happy you think so,” Castiel offers in response, hoping Dean will understand he’s not only talking about him complimenting the service, but also, especially, him complimenting Castiel himself. Dean finds him handsome _and_ interesting.

The butterflies in his stomach confirm Castiel has regressed to adolescence and he’s now 15 years old again.

Probably sensing that Castiel is having an existential crisis due to now being a teenager swooning because his crush has openly flirted with him, Dean takes matters in his own – big, strong, capable – hands and steers the conversation back to safer topics.

“But that means that you yourself have to wake up super early to be here when the first guests start coming down for breakfast.”

“Not really, considering I live upstairs, so I don’t have to commute.”

“You live in your hotel?!” Dean enquirers, partly intrigued and partly horrified. Living in a hotel room permanently isn’t exactly the ideal living situation for most people.

“Not exactly. I occupy the last floor, which I have turned in my own apartment. It’s convenient, since I own the building, and allows me to take care of the breakfast shift without having to wake up too early.”

Dean’s looking at him with a glint in his eyes that tells Castiel he’s just become even more interesting in the man’s eyes. Castiel’s _trying_ not to swoon, okay? It isn’t _easy_ though. Not when Dean Winchester is looking at him all appreciative like that. Castiel is only a human standing in front of a demigod, give him a break.

“So what do you do for the rest of the day after breakfast?”

“I usually spend the rest of the morning and sometimes early afternoon running errands for the hotel, like going to the farmers’ market, then I focus on my hobbies.”

Dean perks up at the mention of hobbies. “Such as?”

“Reading, jogging, yoga-“

“-You practice yoga?”

“Yes?” Is Dean one of those manly men who claim yoga is for soccer mums only?

“Now I know what I have to thank for those thighs,” Dean says, infuriatingly unrepentant.

This man will make Castiel spontaneously _combust_.

On the other hand, he thinks as sudden arousal wipes away any shyness, two can play the game.

"I'm glad you appreciate the results I have achieved with yoga, Dean," Castiel says, his voice one tone lower. "I must admit, the muscles in my thighs are indeed quite strong. They can sustain pretty _hard_ work outs for a very _prolonged_ span of time," he concludes on a smirk.

His reward is immediate. Dean's gaze ignites with fire and he wets his lips slowly, deliberately.

"That's good, Cas. I can think of a least a couple of scenarios when that might come in handy," Dean replies, his voice lower than before too.

"So can I, Dean. So can I."

Their gazes lock and Castiel cannot be sure, but he thinks they're both thinking about the same thing. About what Castiel has been unable to stop thinking about for days. About himself straddling Dean's lap and putting the strength of his frankly impressive thighs to good use while he rides Dean into oblivion.

Luckily, a shrill by the three year old kid of the Russian couple Castiel was taking care of when Dean came down for breakfast manages to break their trance so Castiel doesn't do something stupid and totally unprofessional like jumping Dean's bones on the very chair he's sitting on. He turns around on instinct only to be met with the embarrassed and apologetic smile of the kid's father who matters a quick "Sorry, she's just throwing a tantrum" in their native language.

Moment effectively ruined – and public decency blissfully preserved – their conversation steers back toward breakfast-appropriate topics, with Castiel finally finding the courage to ask the one question that's been bugging him the most.

"Dean, can I ask you something? You don't have to answer, of course, if you don't want to."

"'f course, Cas. You go ahead and ask, and I'll see if I can answer," the beautiful, beautiful man starring in all of Castiel's night- and daydreams replies, with an open and reassuring smile. Always trying to put Castiel at ease. How can Castiel be anything but defenseless in the face of this beautiful, sweet creature?

"How come you need to stay at a hotel for two whole weeks? You work around here, so you’re not a tourist.”

"Ah," Dean replies, his smile somewhat bigger, signaling he was perhaps bracing for a way more difficult question. "That's an easy one. My landlord is renovating the building I live in, and we needed to vacate for a couple of weeks. And I, um, didn't want to impose on anyone for that long. Staying in the neighborhood was also a factor, you know? It's just easier, with my recording studio and all, especially on the days when I give class to the kids."

So a totally practical reason. And one not involving a very nasty and very recent breakup, which is what Castiel was afraid of. As incredible as Dean seems to be, Castiel isn’t sure he could deal with that kind of baggage. Castiel makes a mental note to send the finest wine they have in the hotel kitchen to Dean’s landlord.

“Jack told me a little bit about that, you know? I must say, I think what you do for them is really admirable, Dean.”

“Nah,” Dean replies, waving a hand at him in dismissal. “Truth be told, I prolly have more fun than they do,” he downplays with an embarrassed chuckle. “Honestly, I just-. I used to be them, you know? Young and lost because of my shitty family issues and no adult guiding me. Music, and my music teacher, brought me back on track. So I figured, music is the one thing I can do and it’s the one thing that saved me, why not try and help someone else with it, like I myself was helped?”

That’s so... beautiful, Castiel can’t help but think. Just like he can’t help noticing how, besides the obvious attraction, they clearly have much else in common, starting from a youth deeply impacted on by family issues that has led them both to find ways to help others.

“Like I said, admirable,” Castiel repeats, with a tone meant to make Dean realize he won’t let him wave off his good heart and generosity a second time.

Dean’s quiet acceptance, bashful smile and dropping gaze in response do _things_ to Castiel.

He needs to clear his throat before he can speak again. “So you’re not only the owner of a music studio, you’re a musician yourself?” Castiel asks, hoping to sound casual and probably failing spectacularly. He’s not imaging Dean on a stage playing something – a guitar maybe – and rocking the music star look more than a storm would rock a boat at sea. He’s _not_.

“Yep,” Dean replies, smug smirk conveying he _totally_ knows what Castiel’s thinking about.

Castiel knows it’s probably too bold but he’s only human and, well, carpe diem – or YOLO, like Gabe would say – right?

“I’d love to listen to you play sometimes,” he says.

Dean’s eyes darken a smidge. ”That can be arranged, Cas,” the infuriating man replies, a replica of what Castiel himself had told him in the garden not two days ago.

That means, however, that Dean’s not shutting him down. On the contrary, the opening couldn’t be bigger if the Hulk had created it himself.

”Maybe,” he tries, “one of these evenings? Before you check out?”

Castiel has no idea what his face is doing, but whatever it is, there must be so much hope on it that Dean cannot but soften in response. “Yeah, I’d love that,” he says, with a sweet smile.

Castiel takes a deep breath. Carpe diem.

“We could maybe do that... in my apartment?”

‘So I can maybe strip you naked after, lick every inch of you and chock on your dick before I sit on it’ is what Castiel doesn’t verbalize. It’s probably written all over his face anyway, so why bother.

Dean’s clearly on board with the plan. “Mmmm, I _love_ the idea of being the one guest who visits the floor guests are not allowed to _enter_ ,” he comments, smug smile firmly in place. The metaphor isn’t lost on Castiel either.

Castiel wonders if Dean’s still gonna be so smug once Castiel has him under himself. Probably not. Castiel _cannot_ wait.

“Is that as a yes?” He asks, equally hopeful and terrified.

“Hell yeah! Tomorrow night?”

Castiel appreciates a man who doesn’t beat around the bush. “That’s perfect, Dean. Let’s say 8, after dinner?”

“Sure.”

Castiel’s gonna daydream about this date for the next 36 hours, isn’t he?

Yes, he _totally_ is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, my lovelies, the chapter we've aaaaaaall been waiting for: fluff & smut ahead :-D 
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much for the love and support. You know it means a lot to me, but it bears repeating :-) :-*
> 
> Enjoy date night, my dears!

Dean's spent the last few hours telling himself he isn’t nervous.

Dean's a liar.

 _Of course_ he's nervous.

He's about to meet with Cas in the hall, so they can take the elevator together to the last floor. Where Cas's apartment is located. An apartment which, presumably, has a couch, and chairs, and a bed. It certainly has a floor. All places Dean's fantasized about himself and Cas fucking on. And now he's about to be with Cas, alone, somewhere where his fantasies might come true. Dean wants that so much. But he's also scared shitless. Because he's got a crush on this man the size of the Chrysler building, and what if all _he_ wants is sex instead?

Dean can't pretend he truly believes Cas just wants to hear him play. He knows the man's attracted to him and this is just a convenient excuse to get all close and personal with him. Cas might have changed his mind since yesterday though. And if that is case, Dean will respect his decision of course. He will play him however many songs he wants and then take his leave.

But if the sultry looks Cas’s sent his way last night in the garden and this morning at breakfast are to be trusted, Dean doesn't really think he has. Cas _wants_ sex. He wants sex _with Dean_. What if that's all he wants though? Because Dean wants it too, but that’s not _all_ he wants. He wants to date the guy. He really, really wants to fuck him – hell, he'd even bottom for him, even though he generally prefers to top – but he also wants to go to the movies, and to concerts, and to grab a burger and a beer with him. He wants to tell him about himself. In fact, he wants to tell him _more_ about himself, seeing as he's already opened up with Cas more than he's ever done with anyone outside his family and his inner circle of friends. He wants to know everything Cas wants to tell Dean about himself. He wants to go to Cas at the end of a working day. He wants them to fall asleep together and wake up together. He wants to be the lucky person who'll make Cas the two cups of coffee that turn the ogre into a sparkling, generous soul in the morning, Dean thinks as a smile tugs at his lips. Dean wants Cas to be the person he’s been feeling was missing from his life lately. He just doesn’t know if Cas feels the same.

“Hello, Dean.”

One way or another, he’s about to find out.

“Heya, Cas.”

“Ready?”

‘No,’ Dean thinks.

“Ready,” he says.

'Akwaaaaard,' Dean muses, as they ride up in the elevator, both of them silent and clearly tense. They're not even attempting small talk. Dean wishes he could know why Cas is so wound up. He knows he himself is this tense from a mix of anticipation and trying not to jump Cas right here and now. Yes, he might have fantasized about it when Cas mentioned the elevator ride this morning at breakfast, but he doesn't actually want their first – but hopefully not last – time to be in an elevator.

Somehow, seeing Cas fumbling with the keys to his apartment as soon as they leave the confined space of the elevator – and _boi_ , does that help Dean breathe better – and then needing a few additional seconds to manage to open the door helps him relax. Cas is nervous. Just as nervous as Dean is. That's a good sign, right? If screwing Dean's brains out was the only thing Cas wanted, he wouldn't be this nervous, right? This is a far cry from the intense man who’s been flirting with him at breakfast and in the garden these last few days. This is... a schoolboy with a crush, which, honestly, is not more and not less than how Dean himself is feeling right now.

As soon as he walks through the door of Cas’s apartment, Dean’s nervous feelings start ebbing away. This place is so unmistakably _Cas_.

They’re greeted by an open space which includes a well-stocked kitchen and a living room, all decorated in warm, earthy colors. Well taken care of plants are placed on the sill of the huge window dominating the space, a yoga mat and what Dean can imagine are scented candles – lavender, if he had to wager – are on the floor directly in front of the window. From where he’s standing, Dean can see the corridor that, he suspects, leads to the other rooms of the apartment, including Cas’s bedroom. He wonders if he’ll get to see it tonight. Or maybe the couch will do. Or the chairs. Or the floor. Come to think of it, the walls could also be an option.

“Would you like something to drink, Dean? A beer, maybe?”

Cas’s overtly polite hospitality interrupts Dean’s stream of mental images of the two of them having their wicked way with each other in every available space around them.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile that he hopes is reassuring and not a confirmation that he was thinking about fucking him in any conceivable way just a moment ago. “Thanks, Cas.”

The man replies with a small smile of his own and heads for the kitchen, every muscle in his body still tense. Time to help them both relax. Dean has just the solution, he thinks as he heads for the couch, where he takes his guitar out of its case and starts getting ready to play some music. That’s still the official reason why he’s here, and he can’t deny he’s hitching to play something. Music is Dean’s getaway. Nothing makes him feel more himself than playing, and he figures that if he manages to relax, Cas will relax too. He’s also aware that he’s pretty hot when he starts playing and singing. He’s charmed the pants off a few ladies and also a few gentlemen in the past with his guitar and his voice, and he’s not above using that with Cas tonight. Of all those people, he’s the one Dean wants to be with the most _by far_.

“Here,” Cas says, passing him his beer before taking a seat on the couch next to Dean, a respectable distance away. He’s probably being mindful of the additional space Dean needs for the guitar, and the simple act warms Dean’s heart. This man is so respectful of others’ needs and boundaries. And he smells _so good_ tonight, sweet baby Jesus. He always does, but he must have used a cologne he uses for special occasions and Dean must confess, Cas knows his way around this shit because Dean’s feeling _especially_ inspired to jump his bones right now. Admittedly, that might also have something to do with the tight black jeans that perfectly hug his ass and those magnificent thighs Dean hopes more than anything he’ll feel wrapped around himself before the night is over, or the tight fitting blue T-shirt Cas is wearing that showcases just how powerful his chest and biceps must be. He’s _delectable._

“So, what would you like me to play?”

“The songs you like playing best.”

That’s...not what Dean was expecting. Whenever he’s asked this question in the past, he’s always got an answer along the lines of “Do you know how to play this or that?”, a request for him to cater to the other person’s likes or a challenge to prove his musical talent. But that’s not Cas, is it? He’s using this opportunity to get to know Dean a bit more. He knows, by now, how important music is for him, and he wants to know what songs make Dean happy. Cas is not expecting Dean to make him happy by playing _Cas’s_ favorite songs. No, he wants Dean to have a good time and be happy, so Cas can enjoy the show of seeing the other man relaxed while he sings and plays his favorite tunes. This man is future Mr. Winchester alright, if Dean has anything to say about it.

Dean can only do as asked. He smiles brilliantly at Cas, trying to convey how happy his reply has made him and pours all his happiness and talent into playing his go-to songs, which, he knows, will tell Cas more about the kind of man Dean is at heart that anything else could.

Cas’s attention never wavers, but he does relax little by little, and by the time Dean’s played _Simple Man, The Weight, Proud Mary_ and _Sitting on the dock of the bay_ , the wide smile which makes his gums show, his nose scrunch up and the skin around his beautiful, blue eyes crinkle – not to mention that bright glint in his eyes that speaks of genuine, unadulterated joy – has appeared, making Dean feel like a God for putting it there. He’s even started singing along the last couple of songs, shyly at first and then a bit more boldly, aware that his voice is far too low and gravelly for those songs, but willing to show he’s having a great time anyway, almost with the kind of childlike delight and mischief one feels when they know they’re doing something they maybe shouldn’t do but end up doing anyway.

Dean‘s having _fun_. Not that his desire for this beautiful man is forgotten. It isn’t. It’s simmering just under the surface though, the joy of sharing something so simple yet significant as his favorite songs with Cas and feeling so completely accepted taking central stage. This, right here, is the stuff of boyfriends, not of one night stands. How he hopes this will be just the first of many, many nights spent like this.

When he takes a break to have a drink of his beer, Cas takes the opportunity to tell him how much he loves his taste in music, how good he is at playing his guitar and how beautiful his voice is. Not the first time Dean’s heard someone say those things to him. Certainly not the first time he’s heard someone intent on getting in his pants saying them. But never, not once in his life, have those words had such an effect on him. He’s fucking preening, yes, but he’s also truly experiencing what it means to be hot and bothered for the first time, because heat’s spreading throughout his body, his groin the starting point of a lava outpour which is no longer simmering, but it’s about to erupt like the freaking Kilauea.

Time to stop dancing around each other.

“I can’t say I’m not happy you think so, Cas. I’m very, very, _very_ happy,” he starts, looking at Cas straight in the eye. “In fact, I have a very personal interest in you liking me,” Dean concludes, his tone suggestive and his gaze doing nothing to hide the eruption of raw desire which is racking his body.

The change in Cas’s demeanor is instantaneous. His breath hitches, his eyes darken a bit, his shoulders tense and he wets his lips unconsciously.

“Is that so?”

“It really is.”

“And why’s that?”

Dean – slowly, deliberately, to give Cas all the time he might need to process that yes, the atmosphere has changed and the electricity he’s feeling in the air is not because of his imagination running wild – bends slightly to put his guitar back in its open case lying on the floor next to his feet. He then turns around on the couch, angling his body towards Cas, an arm extended on the backrest, a leg bent at the knee resting on the cushion, his body language open, inviting.

“Because I like you, Cas. A lot. And I think you like me too. I _want_ you to like me too.”

Dean had already decided to go straight to the point, this two-week long dance they’ve danced so far has been fun and sexy, and Dean’s really enjoyed the idea of the two of them almost courting each other. It had been so long since Dean had last taken the time to get to know someone before falling into bed with them. But he’s ready for the dance to be over, and for the real thing to begin.

He hadn’t expected Cas’s enthusiastic reaction though. It’s not like he hadn’t daydreamed about it, he totally did, fantasizing that Cas would jump him as soon as the words would leave his mouth. He didn’t actually _think_ that was how things would play out, however. Clearly, he was wrong, because the last syllable hasn’t even left his mouth that Cas’s tongue is already thrusting inside. There‘s no other way to describe it. Cas’s plunging his tongue inside of Dean’s mouth with a focus that reminds Dean of those tales of Vikings conquering and plundering new territories. Cas‘s fucking Dean’s mouth with single-minded intent, making Dean _his_.

Logically, Dean knows they should slow down and talk. He still has no idea what this is for Cas. But he doesn’t want to. He _can’t_ think of slowing down, or stopping altogether now. He wants to go on, he wants to get everything he can out of tonight.

They can talk later. They _will_ talk later. And if Cas should tell him this was nothing more than sex, yes, it would make for a hell of an awkward breakfast tomorrow morning and a just as awkward last night at the hotel before Dean checks out the following morning. But he will at least have had this chance to get as close to Cas as he could. He won’t leave this hotel with fantasies. He’ll leave with _memories_.

“Dean,” Cas says, breathless, and why is he talking, they should be kissing, Dean thinks, out of his mind with _need_ and _want_ , trying to get Cas to put his mouth back on him, wherever, just please-

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas repeats, tone forceful, demanding attention, his big hands tilting Dean’s face upward just a bit, so that Dean manages to tear his eyes away from Cas’s deliciously sinful lips and look into his eyes.

“Am I going too fast? Do you want to slow down, or st-?”

“No, no, no,” Dean interrupts, shaking his head, half delirious, “don’t stop, please, don’t-“

“Shhh, baby, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” Cas shushes him, pecking his lips and massaging the hair at the back of his head with the fingers of both hands as his thumbs circle his cheekbones, trying to soothe him.

“Yes, yes,” Dean doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to and he _doesn’t care,_ because Cas is touching him, and he’s called him “baby” and Dean needs to come so bad he’s aching for it and oh god yes, Cas’s lips are touching his again, his tongue is thrusting inside Dean’s mouth again, one of his arms is tightening around his waist, while his other hand is cradling Dean’s head to make sure it doesn’t bang against the arm of the couch where Cas is laying Dean flat on his back, while he stays on top, his mouth never leaving Dean in the process. ‘I was right, the couch will do just fine,’ Dean finds himself thinking, having no pretense this is just foreplay and they will move things to the bedroom. There’s no time for that, worked up as they are. Not with Cas heavy and perfect atop Dean. Not when he gently slides the hand that was supporting his head through Dean’s side, softly touching his shoulder, chest, hipbone, backside, until it stops and grabs ahold of his thigh to make sure it tightens around Cas’s waist and stays there, while Cas’s hips start moving. Oh God, the friction is-

“You drive me _crazy_ , Dean,” Cas says as his mouth starts kissing and nibbling along Dean’s jaw and neck, “I wanna do so many things to you-“

“Anything, Cas,” Dean replies without thinking, “everything. Just, don’t-, oh god, don’t stop.”

Cas’s groan goes straight to Dean’s cock, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, and he‘d have never thought he’d come in his pants ever again, not since becoming an adult, but that’s what’s about to happen because he’s close, so close, and he’s moaning like a slut, and urging Cas on, begging him not to stop, and the friction of Cas’s cock against his own through their jeans shouldn’t be glorious but totally is, and Cas’s hands are keeping him in place just where they want him and they’re so _strong_ and _possessive_ and when Cas’s mouth laches on Dean’s pulse on his neck and sucks a bruise into it, Dean’s back arches off the couch and he cries out as he comes harder than he has in a long, long time.

“Dean, baby, perfect-“ Cas babbles, between one love bite and the other, his hips madly grinding against Dean’s boneless body, which only prolongs Dean’s aftershocks and makes it even harder for him to catch his breath.

“Cas, com’on, baby, come for me,” Dean tells him as soon as he’s capable of coherent thought again, as he also brings his arms around Cas to hold him close and resume the motion of his own hips to amplify Cas’s pleasure.

He’s close, Dean knows because he’s stopped talking and kissing, has tucked his head against Dean’s neck, he’s moaning and panting and his breath is hot against Dean’s skin, he’s chanting Dean’s name like a prayer, his thrusts so strong they push Dean against the arm of the couch with every forward motion.

Cas just needs the little something that will push him over the edge. For all Dean knows, he might be the kind of person who loves that, walking on the brink for as long as he can, prolonging his pleasure with denial and anticipation. And Dean will find out if that's the case, if Cas lets him. But right now Dean needs him to come. He needs Cas to let go and he needs to know that's because of _him_ , because he made Cas hard, drove him crazy like he said, until he had no choice but to release anything he had inside and let it out. So he does what would push _him_ over – grabs a handful of Cas's soft, messy dark hair and pulls his face backward enough that he can crash their mouths together. Cas's responding moan turns into a muffled cry when Dean bits down on his bottom lip and his whole body locks up before he stills and lands, heavy and perfect, on top of Dean.

Holy shit.

What they just did is one of the hottest things Dean's ever done and they didn't even remove a single article of clothing. Dean can't help the half surprised and half hysterical laugh that leaves his mouth. They were so desperate that they didn't even waste a second to get naked and just rutted against each other like a pair of beasts in heat.

 _Totally_. _Hot_.

"Did we just-?" Cas jokes, humor in his voice and a smile on his lips Dean can feel against his neck.

"Yep," Dean's answering laugh confirms. "We just did."

Cas's chuckles makes something in Dean's chest loosen, a tightness he hadn't realized was there. Fear that he'd blown his own and only chance to rock this marvelous man's world. But Dean can't regret how things played out and Cas seems just as happy, if surprised, as he is.

His grunt when he pushes himself on his elbows to look down at Dean and lightly peck his lips, as if that was something he's used to doing whenever, speaks of the mighty effort required of him to leave his comfortable spot on his human pillow.

"Don't move, I'll be back in a minute," Cas says, with a shy smile beautifully in contrast with what they've just done, only to leave a lingering kiss on Dean's lips and then get up from the sofa.

Curious, Dean lies there, trying to listen to any sound Cas might make and understand where he's gone.

He hears a door open and then close after a minute or so, then what he thinks it's running water and he realizes that Cas is cleaning up.

His stomach sinks when he recognizes that this is it, he doesn't have much time left before he needs to go, especially as Cas knows all too well what the situation in Dean's pants is, so he couldn't even pretend, even if he wanted – and he really doesn't, because dried come in his most intimate place is annoying as fuck – that he doesn't need to clean up sooner rather than later.

He should, however, have enough time to ask Cas where he wants to take things from here. He won't leave this apartment before he knows that.

The answer is given before he even asks though. A throat being cleared alerts Dean that he's no longer alone and when he lifts his head what he sees is beyond endearing. Cas is standing, shy and awkward in his own living room, his eyes wide and vibrant, his face still flushed – and Dean would lie if he said that knowing he's the one who put that lovely shade of red on Cas's cheeks doesn't make his cock stir in a valiant attempt to rejoin the party, in spite of it still being trapped in the mess of drying come inside of his pants – holding something in his hands, which he seems to be using as a shield. A change of clothes. Which can only be intended for Dean, since Cas has already changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

"I-," Cas begins, only to stop and clear his throat again a moment later. "I understand if you want to go back to your own room downstairs, but I, um, brought you these, in case you wanted to stay?"

He's insecure, Dean realizes. He wants Dean to stay, or he wouldn't be offering, but he doesn't know that Dean wants to. Yet he's taking the plunge and asking for what he wants outright. The more he gets to know Cas, the more Dean thinks this man was made for him.

He replies with his biggest, brightest smile, wanting for Cas to realize how absolutely thrilled the offer makes him. "I'd love to, Cas."

Cas's faces transforms right away. From frowny and worried to delighted and pleased. "That's great, Dean. Bathroom's that way. We can watch a film or something once you're done or," he hesitates, "we could go straight to bed?"

"Bed is definitely the best option," Dean confirms, a bit of a flirting tone seeping into his voice.

The blush that colors Cas’s cheeks in response is immediate and as adorable as it is rewarding. _Dean_ is having that effect on him. On a man who has just shown him his decisiveness, a man who’s clearly not afraid of taking charge, but who's now blushing at the simple hint that Dean might want more than just sleep.

"There's only one bed though, and I-, um, like being the small spoon?" Cas adds, burying once and for all any last hope Dean had not to fall for him irremediably.

Dean's soft smile is unstoppable, just like his feet, when they carry him to Cas, so he can put his hands on those hips of his and duck his head to try and catch his gaze. “You know, I was hoping you’d say that,” he soothes.

“Yeah?” Cas checks, lifting his gaze while his beautiful blush is still firmly in place.

“Oh yes,” Dean confirms, and, wow, Cas’s soft smile sure is soft. “Go on, I’ll only be a minute” Dean adds, brushing his lips against Cas's cheek, leaving in his wake a barely there kiss and a half stunned Cas. Maybe he too, like Dean, felt that that simple, innocent peck was more intimate than anything they've done so far. Maybe he felt it too, the spike of elation at doing something that screams _boyfriends_ , the kind of quick reassurance usually reserved for long-term partners which says "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I'm coming back to you".

After closing the bathroom door, Dean takes a moment to lean against it, head tilting toward the ceiling and a stupid grin on his face. He's staying the night, because Cas asked him to. Because they had sex – clothed, non-penetrative, more suited for high schoolers than grown ass men sex, but still _sex_ – and Cas didn't kick him out. He asked him to stay.

Dean sighs contentedly, but scolds himself one second later, because he doesn’t need to waste time daydreaming about the man. Not anymore. Cas is _waiting_ for him in his _bed_ , in his _bedroom_ , for fuck's sake. Dean better hurry the fuck up and go to him _ASAP_.

He cleans up in record time and walks out of the bathroom with his heart thumping against his ribcage. He’s nervous, exhilarated, eager to-

The view that awaits him stops him short.

Cas is already in bed, sitting with this back against the headboard, the sheets bunched up around his waist, his hands worrying the fabric, his teeth biting his plump lower lip.

When Dean announces his presence with a short “Hey”, he looks up with wide blue eyes where Dean can see each of his feelings looking back at him – hope and fear, anticipation and dread, confusion and determination. ‘Oh, Cas,’ Dean thinks, ‘I’ll take such good care of you, sweetheart.’

Then Cas seems to register something else and his eyes darken a bit.

“You,” an unconscious lick of sinful lips, “look good in my clothes,” Cas comments.

“I feel good in your clothes,” Dean remarks, before covering the few steps separating him from the bed and sliding under the covers as if that was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. Surprisingly, it kinda is.

He lies on his side facing Cas and props himself on an elbow. “So, tell me more about buying the hotel?”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go for round two. He wants alright. He’s pretty sure he’ll want even when, hopefully, they get to round two thousand. But he wants Cas to see Dean wants all of him. His face and his body, yes, but what’s within those things too – his brain, his heart, his soul. And he wants to give him all of that in return.

That was the right thing to say apparently, because all the tension melts from Cas’s face and a blinding smile is all that remains. He then launches into a tale of how he decided to take a whole flock of birds with one stone by using the inheritance of the parents who had disowned him to set up a place like the one he’d always wanted to live in that he’s named in a way that he knew would piss their fanatic ass off big time, and where he could work with his misfit brother and best friend while also helping the neighborhood and its least lucky inhabitants.

By the end of it, they’re both wiping away tears of laughter and grinning at each other like a couple of overgrown children, and Dean’s in awe of how resilient and smart and sassy and an all around BAMF Cas is.

But it’s also past 10 PM and tiredness starts showing on Cas’s beautiful face. He needs to get up at 6 o’clock since breakfast starts at 7, so this is probably around the time he usually goes to bed.

“How about we get some sleep now, eh?” Dean says, and a small, grateful smile appears on Cas’s lips.

“That’d be for the best, yes,” Cas replies, and bites his bottom lip again.

Right, the little spoon thing. He wants it but doesn’t want to ask again. So Dean lies down completely, still on his side, and opens his arms in invitation. The grin and the little bounce resulting from Cas all but flinging himself on his other side before he scoots back with a content sigh to press his back against Dean’s chest are definitely _enough_ for Dean to both mentally pat himself on the back for another good decision, and to think he’s falling hard and fast for a huge dork and he’s okay with that.

That’s the thing with Castiel. He’s clearly a strong, independent, smart man that can take care of himself, has been taking care of himself all his life, but he’s also this sweet, good soul that makes all of Dean’s protective instinct kick in until the only thing he wants is to tuck him away wrapped up in a soft blanket until no one can touch Cas except Dean himself.

Dean’s pretty sure he’s gonna have a hell of a hard time saying no to Cas or staying mad at him for too long. Oh well, there are bigger and worse problems in life than that.

A content sigh matching the one Cas heaved a few moments ago is what Dean releases once he realizes that he’s wrapped himself around Cas during his musings. He’s plastered himself against his back and thrown an arm around his waist protectively, to make sure he can’t stray too far. Their legs are tangled and his nose is feasting on the smell of lavender Dean has come to associate with Cas, which is radiating from his soft hair. Yes, there are definitely bigger and worse problems than what Dean’s currently facing in life.

Their shared body warmth and the faint sound of their breathing relaxes Dean almost instantly and when he wakes up to the sound of Cas’s alarm the next morning he has a second to regret falling asleep without meaning to. He wanted to savor the moment for as long as possible. But he can’t really be upset for that, not when he’s slept better than he has in forever and he’s got an armful of perfect man to wake up to.

After switching his alarm off, Cas turns around and snuggles back into Dean’s chest, his head tucked under his chin.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean greets.

“Morning,” Cas mumbles, tightening his hold on Dean. As if Dean wanted to be anywhere else right now.

Dean’s hand goes automatically to Cas’s hair and he starts sliding his fingers through the soft strands. He almost feels like he’s scratching a cat, and he isn’t sure Cas won’t start purring any second now.

“You know, waking up this way isn’t bad at all,” Cas says.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” he confirms, and hums happily against Dean’s heart.

“If that is the case,” Dean starts, because he has to know for sure, “do you think you‘d be opposed to me still having breakfast here, even though I check out tomorrow?”

Cas lifts his head to look at Dean, his bed hair a total disaster but his eyes clear and his smile brighter than a sunbeam. “No, Dean, I most definitely wouldn’t. I’m-,” he pauses and takes a breath. “I’m actually kind of hoping I’ll see you around for breakfast for a long time, even though you’ll no longer be a guest.”

‘Wild horses couldn’t chase me away,’ Dean thinks.

“Oh, sweetheart, you will,” he says.

Cas’s pleased reaction in the form of a lengthy kiss with lots of tongue and zero consideration for morning breath seals the deal on this morning being the best Dean’s had in ages.

And it only gets better when Cas breaks the kiss to fix a smolder on him and says, the portrait of innocence if not for the fire in his darkened eyes, “Does that mean I can ride you on the backseat of your car one of these days? I might have dreamed about it a time or two...”

Dean’s suddenly dizzy because of all of his blood rushing downstairs in a swoosh. Cas’s smug smile confirms his predicament didn’t pass unnoticed. Not one to back down from a challenge, Dean tries to regain some footing. “Yeah? You wanna go all sexy cowboy on me?”

The smile he gets in reply is predatory. “ _Definitely,_ Dean. I wanna be your Huckleberry for as long as you’ll have me.”

Jesus. Dean’s pretty sure Cas and his thick, powerful thighs might actually pose an unprecedented challenge for his poor dick. And he _can’t wait_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tax season is upon Hotel Eden and Cas is a mess. He even apparently forgot some very important papers in the Impala and sends Dean to retrieve them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all *know* what's about to follow, so don't you even *try* to look all innocent like that and pretend that you don't lol
> 
> Jokes aside, here it is my beautiful readers, the last chapter in this fic. 
> 
> I'll confess that I'm waaaay sadder than I thought I'd be to see these two go. I'm happy that I know they'll be happy, they sure deserve that, but I grew attached to them and their story more than I thought I would at the beginning (when I still thought this'd be a quick one-shot until my Muse went "AH! Hold my beer" on me), so I really wanna thank everyone who's read along and shared their thoughts with me in whatever form... reading, commenting, leaving kudos, subscribing, bookmarking, putting tags or comments in their bookmarks, or just simply checking this out. I've come to love this fic so much that I can't but be absolutely delighted when I know any of you loves these two sweet souls too. And I hope you know how big the smile each of you has put on my face with your feedback has been: you've all been so sweet and kind to me, I'm beyond grateful. 
> 
> So thank you, truly. 
> 
> Now please enjoy this last chapter and accept the squeezing hugs that I'm sending your way!

Dean’s certain Cas's wrong. He was even about to say that, but he thought better of it. His boyfriend had been adamant that he’d forgotten some papers he needs to file the tax report due in a couple of days in the backseat of the Impala. He’d claimed he needed those papers desperately and sent Dean to retrieve them _stat_.

Dean’d have noticed if anything had been left on the backseat of Baby when he parked it in his garage at the end of their movie night – gosh, the film they’ve watched _sucked_ , but at least that meant Cas had soon grown disinterested and hadn’t been opposed to some hardcore tongue action. Dean hadn’t been home more than one hour when Cas called him about the papers and asked Dean to go to the garage and get them for him. His tone brooked no argument so Dean didn’t object, even though he knows Cas doesn’t remember correctly. As a business owner himself, he knows how crazy taxes can drive you. Plus, ‘Happy boyfriend, happy life.’

Dean smiles as he thinks ‘Happy soon-to-be-husband, you mean.’ The ring’s been sitting in the bottom drawer of his nightstand for three weeks now. He’s waiting to propose on the one year anniversary of the day they met, the blissful morning after Dean checked in at Hotel Eden. The day’s still two weeks away and Dean’s experiencing the same mixture of anticipation and dread he felt during his two week stay at the hotel all those months ago. There’s always a chance Cas might say no, Dean can’t really say he doesn’t almost crap his pants whenever he thinks about _actually_ getting down on one knee and proposing. But things between them have been going incredibly well since day one, their bond getting more and more profound as time went by, so he doesn’t really think Cas will say no. They’ve talked about marriage and kids and all the big issues two people who are involved romantically should talk about before committing to each other. Dean knows they’re on the same page, and he cannot wait to seal the deal once and for all. Cas’s the one for him and he honestly thinks he’s the one for Cas.

Which is why he’s now changing his clothes, _again_ , so he can go downstairs and check his car and, in the unlikely event Cas might actually be right, go to the hotel where he’s left Cas earlier and bring him his precious papers. If it turns out he was right, as he expects, he’ll be a good, understanding boyfriend and won’t rub it in, but he also won’t be lying when he tells Cas that he checked and no papers were left in his pride and joy. Lying to Cas is a line Dean doesn’t really want to cross, like _ever_.

As he’s making his way to the garage, he starts thinking about their living situation after they get engaged and subsequently married. The obvious solution would be for Dean to go live with Cas in his apartment at the hotel, which is far nicer than Dean’s place and it’s also closer to the recording studio. Add to that that Cas owns the place, while Dean is renting, and it also becomes the logical choice money-wise. The only problem would be Baby, because Dean’s apartment comes with a private garage space he pays quite a lot for, but which allows him to sleep soundly at night knowing she’s safe and tucked away, considering how much Baby means to him. He knows he can use one of the spots in the hotel parking space, which is equally safe, but if they got fully booked, Dean would be loath to steal a family’s or some elders’ parking space, considering those are the two categories more likely to stay at Hotel Eden.

He doesn’t even need to switch on the light when he enters the garage and closes the door behind himself, that’s how familiar a space this is to him. Plus, he knows that the light from the street lamps filtering through the small glass windows on top of the garage door will be more than enough for him to see that no papers were, in fact, left in Baby’s backseat.

Yet, here he is, he thinks, smiling at himself and shaking his head at how absolutely whipped he is. ‘Ah, what we wouldn’t do for love.’

The irony of the perfect timing for a thought like that doesn’t escape Dean when he opens the door on the driver’s side. Because, as predicted, there are no papers on the backseat of the Impala. Doesn’t mean the backseat is empty. It is, rather, quite occupied. By none other than future Mr. Winchester. Naked. Stroking himself. And circling his whole with his other hand.

“Hello Dean”, his boyfriend’s sexy voice greets.

“You were taking too long, so I was forced to start without you.”

Dean’s brain won’t cooperate. This is-. Shit. Dean’s torn between the love he feels for this man threatening to burst his heart open and the lust that’s surged through him that’s threatening to make his dick explode on the spot.

Cas knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Dean, his self-congratulating smirk tells Dean as much. So he’s not put out by Dean’s lack of reply, recognizing precisely for what it is: Dean’s brain being fried and useless, probably for good, because of how absolutely hot and wicked his beautiful, _naked and open_ , boyfriend is in the backseat of his beloved car.

On a blanket.

Dean’s brain has still enough power left to notice the little but very significant detail. Cas’s put a blanket on the seat, to make sure they won’t stain it. Dean’s heart might actually meet its demise before his dick with how much that thought fills it. Even in a one-track-mind moment, Cas can’t help but being a giver before he’s a taker. He can’t help taking care of Dean and of what’s important to Dean. He’s never made fun of his obsession with the Impala in the first place, but once Dean told him about the day John gave him the keys and explained why the car means so much to him, Cas’s been even more careful with it. It’s one of the very many things Cas does that make Dean feel accepted and loved unconditionally, exactly for who he is. The exact same philosophy behind Cas opening of Hotel Eden translated into their relationship, and Dean couldn’t be more grateful for that.

“All that making out at the theater,” Cas continues, unrepentant, “turned me on so much, Dean. I had to do something about it, wouldn’t you agree?”, he enquires, his face the picture of unspoiled innocence even as his hands and fingers continue their sexual ministrations.

Cas and his dirty mouth. That’s another department Dean’s had to concede defeat early on in their relationship. It’s a running joke between them how Cas only needs to turn Dean on, if he wants him to shut up. While Cas’s able to use full, coherent sentences even in the throes of passion, Dean’s soon reduced to single words and unintelligible sounds. That’s why Dean knows that Cas knows Dean’s in no way able to reply or contribute anything even remotely meaningful to this conversation. Hence why he’s using fucking _direct_ _questions_. Because he wants to wallow in the pride of having reduced his boyfriend to a speechless mess. The bastard. The beautiful, _naked and open_ , bastard on a blanket in the backseat of his beloved car.

It’s not like they haven’t fucked in Baby before. They have, multiple times. As soon as Cas confessed that was his most recurrent fantasy, they put Dean’s beautiful car and Cas’s beautiful thighs to good use. But Dean’s never been ambushed like this before. It’s always been a spur of the moment thing. This, though? This required planning.

“I’m gonna take your silence as confirmation, baby. I’m glad we agree,” Cas quips in a sweet tone that speaks of smugness more than anything. “But you don’t want to make me wait any longer, do you, baby?” Cas coos, more a command than a request, and that will never not make a shiver run through Dean. He loves it when his boyfriend is that demanding. “C’mon, Love, c’mere. I need you in me, Dean, and you know how much I _love_ riding you in Baby. We have to make the most of your private garage while we still have it.”

Something in that very long, very coherent, very complicated sentence makes an alarm bell sound in his brain, but Dean’s too far gone to analyze that at the moment and can only nod dumbly and slide on the backseat and into his boyfriend’s open arms. Absolutely nothing beats Cas telling him “c’mere, Love” and opening his arms to him. That’s what home is to Dean.

Dean barely has the time to sit down properly that Cas’s already straddling his lap. Dean loves fucking Cas however, whenever and wherever he wants. He’s even bottomed more than a couple times and loved it far more than he had in the past. But he still prefers to top and Cas prefers to bottom and as much as Cas is always, always unbelievably sexy when they fuck, nothing’s better than having him ride Dean’s cock. He does it like that’s his life mission. He’s never shy when they’re intimate, but when he’s topping from the bottom, that’s when he really lets it go and just goes with what he wants and feels like doing. That’s the one time Dean’s pleasure doesn’t take precedence, the one time Cas _takes_ more than he gives, and Dean loves it. He loves that Cas feels safe enough to be with him like he’s never with anyone else.

This time is no different. As soon as he’s situated on Dean’s lap in a way that satisfies him, Cas goes straight for Dean’s mouth and brings his hands around his neck, to make sure Dean’s face is exactly where he wants it. Dean’s hands automatically go to Cas’s ass. Dean’s obsessed with his thighs, spends a probably unhealthy amount of time kissing and nipping them, but he can’t deny Cas’s ass is absolute perfection. Thank _fuck_ for yoga.

That’s as much as Dean’s going to do, and he knows it. Cas will allow his hands to knead his ass cheeks all they want, but everything else will be like _Cas_ wants it. He’s already used his hold on Dean’s neck to tilt his head backward so he can suck bruise after bruise on his skin. Cas’s a fan of marking Dean, the more visible the better, “so people know there’s always someone taking care of you.” Not “someone who owns you”, “someone you belong to”, no. Always “someone taking care of you”. That’s what love is for Cas. Not owning each other, but taking care of each other. He’s also started moving his hips in little figure eights that are causing their hard-ons to rub against each other deliciously, and Dean hopes Cas means to move things along rather than dragging them out, because Dean’s being on the verge of coming in his pants ever since he’s seen Cas sitting on the backseat, so he’s not sure how much more of this sweet torture he can take. 

One of Cas’s hands grabs Dean’s wrist and guides his hand to Cas’s hole, making sure one of Dean’s fingers slips inside. “Can you feel it, Dean? How open I am for you?”

Dean can only groan and kiss him like his life depends on it. Right now, it might as well do.

“I had to make sure I’d be ready as soon as you arrived, Love,” Cas goes on, kissing along Dean’s jaw. “I want you so much, need you so much.”

“Me too, always.” Dean’s not the dirty talker in this relationship, but he can contribute that much.

“So I fingered myself as soon as I got to the hotel,” Cas adds, because he clearly wants to make sure Dean’s brain will never be able to function again. “I thought about you, while I was doing it. I always think about you.” Cas’s need to slip his tongue back inside of Dean’s mouth forces him to cut himself off.

Dean’s only able to follow along for the ride, kissing back when he’s given a chance, touching Cas’s beautiful body, fingering his hole with two of his fingers and he doesn’t even know when the second joined the first but who cares, chanting “Cas, Cas, Cas” like he’s praying at his altar, which is not far from what he’s doing right now.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the theater. How you kissed me, rubbed your hand against my cock.”

‘Oh yeah,’ Dean thinks. They did come this close to rip each other’s clothes while supposedly watching a movie earlier, completely ignoring the other people in the room. That’s why Dean had been a bit disappointed when Cas didn’t invite him to stay the night. He wasn’t really expecting they’d fuck in the theater restrooms – none of them is a big fan of sex in unsanitary, public spaces – but he seriously thought Cas would want to have his way with him when they got to the hotel. But now he knows Cas was already plotting all of this and didn’t invite Dean inside because he needed time to get ready for what they’re doing now. His sneaky, duplicitous, sexy as fuck boyfriend. How Dean _can’t wait_ to marry him.

“I’m sorry for lying about the papers,” Cas says, totally serious all of a sudden and making sure their eyes lock. “I hate lying to you, but,” he drops his gaze and bits his lower lip, a show of regret in complete contrast with his demanding attitude one second ago. “I wanted to surprise you,” he concludes, his big blue eyes earnest and pleading, as if he was really worried Dean might seriously be upset with him.

“You did, sweetheart,” Dean confirms, because fried brain or not, he won’t allow his huge-hearted boyfriend to spoil this for himself. “I love that you did this for us,” he adds before kissing Cas on his full, plush lips. “You’re beautiful like this,” he then says, before rolling his hips up enough to remind Cas why they’re here.

It works like a charm, because any sign of guilt disappears in an instant, to be replaced with wicked determination.

‘Here we go,’ Dean barely has a chance to think before Cas opens his fly to take him out. 

Dean’s hands automatically go to shed his Henley but Cas stops him. “No, baby, just this,” he says, between one frantic kiss and the next, while he lines Dean’s cock with his entrance and starts slowly sinking down on it. That’s when he breaks their kissing streak and sighs, relieved at finally being filled, his forehead going to rest against Dean’s, his fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of Dean’s neck, his eyes closed, an expression of bliss on his face. He’s just sitting there, on Dean’s lap, on his cock, giving himself the time to adjust and, if Dean knows him like he thinks he does, enjoying the feeling of no longer being empty.

“God, baby, so good,” Cas whispers, almost afraid to break the stillness of the perfect moment when they’ve become one, “so full.”

Deans whines. He cannot not do that. He’s such a lucky son of a bitch. His boyfriend – his future fiancé and husband – loves to be full of his cock, revels in it, loves riding him and lying himself bare while Dean’s still fully clothed. They’ve mapped out, kissed, bitten, licked, sucked, touched, stroked, massaged, kneaded every inch of each other’s bodies, make no mistake. But Cas has a thing for clothed sex. He claims it reminds him of how hot and desperate their first time was. Dean can’t say he disagrees.

“You like it, don’t you, being in me.”

“God, yes,” yes, yes Dean does. How could he not? Cas’s so tight, and warm and welcoming-

“Your cock loves it, eh, to be buried inside of me. To _fuck its hole_.”

A loud groan gets ripped out of Dean at that, and he’s powerless to stop his hands from grabbing both of Cas’s asscheeks and his hips from fucking up into him.

“Yeah, baby, like that, _fuck me_.” 

Dean does. He wouldn’t deny Cas anything, least of all this. When Cas begs – demands – to be fucked like that, Dean can’t do anything but give it to him, however he wants it, however long he wants it.

It doesn’t surprise Dean that Cas has no intention of just taking it passively, as he lifts himself up on his strong, amazing thighs and falls back down to meet each of Dean’s thrust head on. For a few minutes it’s just groans, and grunts, and moans, and their names whispered in the silence of the night in this sheltered garage. Baby’s shock absorbers are doing a double shift to counteract the force of their fucking, making the whole car roll with their movements, and its windows are getting fogged with their panting.

When Cas starts stroking himself, stripping his cock hard and fast just like he loves it, and redoubles his efforts to bounce on Dean’s cock so he can take him deeper and faster, angling his hips to try and get Dean’s dick to brush against his prostate as often as possible, Dean knows he’s about to come. Thank fuck because Dean’s barreling towards his own orgasm at an alarming speed and he _hates_ to come before he’s taken care of his love, especially when he’s this desperate.

“Baby, baby please, I need it,” Cas begs, his blue, lust-filled eyes fixed on Dean’s green ones.

It’s moments like this that Dean loves the most. When he and Cas speak words that wouldn’t mean a thing to someone else, but say _everything_ to each other. 

So Dean brings his hand down hard on Cas’s ass, slapping him soundly, the noise echoing in the confined space of the car.

A high-pitched whine is punched out of Cas, and then he’s screaming his pleasure as he starts shooting rope after rope of warm come on his own chest, some of it predictably landing on Dean’s clothes – his neck is _not_ the only thing Cas likes to mark – before latching on Dean’s neck and biting down hard.

The pain in his neck shoots through Dean’s body like a bullet and lights up all of his nerve endings, turning him into a desperate mess. He moans loudly and grabs Cas’s ass with both hands to spread him as wide as he can as he fucks into him hard and deep. Cas’s exhausted body is heavy on top of him, and he’s not doing anything besides worrying the bite mark he’s left behind with his lips and tongue and letting himself being used for Dean’s pleasure. Dean’s fucking like an animal now, short, powerful thrusts that are setting his muscles on fire and making his breath labored and labored, only one goal in mind.

Just like Dean knows what Cas needs, Cas knows just as much about him. That’s why he moves his mouth closer to Dean’s ear and licks his earlobe before whispering “C’mon, love, come in me. _Fill me up_.”

Dean’s coming before the last word leaves Cas’s mouth, the idea of pumping his boyfriend full of his come – of him _wanting_ to be pumped full of Dean’s come – still one of the hottest things he’s ever experienced and will probably ever experience. He screams so loud it’s frankly a miracle someone’s not called the cops yet and he buries himself in the warm channel of his boyfriend’s ass to the hilt, stilling his hips as his cock shoots strip after strip of come into Cas’s perfect hole. It seems to go on forever, and his breathing is so short and loud, and he’s hot all over, his damn clothes drenched in sweat and come and plastered to his body, and it’s all so damn uncomfortable but he _doesn’t care_.

Because on top of him is his beautiful boyfriend, who Dean has taken care of and made come like he wanted, who’s smiling against his neck as he waits for Dean to get his breathing – and heartbeat – back to normal, who’s ambushed him to be fucked savagely in his car, because he’s a kinky fucker and because they need to make the mos-

“Wait,” a light bulb switches on in Dean’s brain and he pulls back a bit to look at Cas’s face. “What did you mean when you said we should make the most of the garage while we still have it?”

Oh _fuck_.

Dean knows _that_ look. That’s Cas’s ‘I got caught’ look. The embarrassed one he has when the jig is up and he has no other choice but to confess to the ideas that have been swirling inside of that dangerously active brain of his.

But why should Cas look so worried? Why did he imply they might not have the garage for much longer? 

Oh _shit_. Cas isn’t about to propose and _totally steal Dean’s thunder_ , is he?!

‘Grandpa proposed to Grandad while he was buried balls deep inside of his ass in the backseat of his car’ is _not_ the story he wants to tell their grandkids one day.

“Well,” Cas starts, voice small and eyes somehow more attracted by Dean’s clavicle than his face, “I was thinking, maybe, um, considering that things, I mean, are going pretty great, right? So, um, you could maybe, if you wanted, of course, possibly, _moveinwithme_?”

 _'Thank fuck he didn’t propose'_ is Dean’s first thought.

But then Cas’s wide blue eyes register and so does his scared but determined expression, the same he had after the first time they had sex and he asked Dean to stay the night, and Dean’s heart all but melts.

Love and joy war inside of him and he feels his face split in what’s probably the hugest smile he’s ever smiled because Cas’s just asked him to move in! His marriage proposal is still on track and Cas _just asked him to move in together_!

“Yes!” He all but screams while laughing, before bringing his arms around Cas’s back to hold him close, trying to pour all his love and happiness in his hold and in the kisses he can’t help smiling into.

Any lingering fear Dean had about proposing is _gone_. Cas’s _clearly_ not afraid of commitment. And neither is Dean.

Not when the commitment is the smoldering hot, toiletries recycling, benefactor of kids in need, deliciously teasing, lavender enthusiast, adorably dorky, bee saving, most amazing hotel owner and boyfriend in the world.


End file.
